


It's All Done With Mirrors

by dbskyler



Category: Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Jeff gets irritated, Lots of plot, Marty is afraid of the supernatural, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbskyler/pseuds/dbskyler
Summary: When a strange woman offers to hold a séance so Jeff and Jeannie can communicate with Marty, Jeff is skeptical, Jeannie is hopeful, and Marty is worried.   But not even Marty could have guessed that this was the start of something that might end the Randall and Hopkirk partnership, forever.





	1. How to Communicate with the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> A portion of the first chapter of this fic was previously posted as a stand-alone story, "Partners": https://archiveofourown.org/works/38048
> 
> Thanks go to Persiflage for Brit-picking and beta reading the early chapters.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to everyone who has a long WIP begun years ago, and wonders if it will ever be finished. It can happen!

No doubt about it, thought Marty, the absolute best place to watch a football match was from the broadcasters' booth. It was perfectly situated for an overall view of the field, with a splendid line of sight to both goals, and it had room enough for him to move around without worrying about someone unknowingly walking through him — an unpleasant experience by itself, but particularly irritating during an exciting match, because when someone physically overlapped him, it obstructed his view. Also, he was able to look over the commentator's shoulder and pick up all sorts of interesting tidbits about the players from the handwritten notes scattered on the table, the contents of which didn't always make it on the air. 

But the best part about being in the booth was the fun he had yelling cheers for his team, insults against the other team, and complaints about the referee (a time-honored tradition for any football fan), knowing that every word was picked up by the microphone and sent out into the airwaves, spreading across the whole of Great Britain. Of course almost no one could hear his words no matter how far they were transmitted, but the thought gave him pleasure just the same. He liked to imagine a confused psychic or two in the audience trying to listen to the match and wondering just where the unauthorized commentary was coming from.

"Go!" he yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet. One of the forwards had spurted past the defenders and had a clear shot at the goal. "Quick, kick it now! Right now! The clock's about to run out!" 

Marty leaned closer to the booth's glass as the opposing goalie crouched down, ready to defend against the shot. "Aim towards his left, he's weak on that side! No, no, his left, his left!" Marty groaned as the player sent the ball sailing in a straight high shot to the goalie's right. "That's it, you've messed it up, he'll get it easily, he's … _goal!!_ " 

Marty yelled with excitement, and other fans in the stadium roared with cheers that only grew louder when the referee called time a few seconds later. Marty transferred down to the field to get a closer look at the ball where it lay, then went up to the dejected goalie and shook his head with happy disbelief. "You should've got that, you know. I bet you feel like a right idiot. If it'd been to your left, you'd never have stood a chance." 

Not surprisingly, the goalie ignored him completely, turned around, and began to slowly walk off towards the locker rooms. Marty smiled at the man's unresponsive back. For some reason he couldn't explain, he still liked to interact with others, even when those others couldn't hold up their end of the interaction. At least he got to say things that he never could have said while he was alive, such as an insult to a football player who was taller than himself, weighed more, and was looking to take his disappointment out on somebody.

Marty closed his eyes and jumped back to the booth for a better look at his team celebrating on the field. The commentator was wrapping up the broadcast, speaking calmly into the microphone in a professional, detached monotone.

" … with the last-minute goal by Rice providing a fitting end to a close match. This is Clive Pettigrew of BBC Sports …"

Marty couldn't resist. "And this is Marty Hopkirk," he said into the microphone right over Pettigrew, "of Randall and Hopkirk, Investigators." 

"… broadcast next week," finished Pettigrew. "Thanks for listening." 

"Thanks for listening," Marty said at precisely the same moment. He'd heard the man's sign-off so often now, he'd got the timing exactly right. Smiling at his joke, he took a last look down at the field, then closed his eyes and went to go find Jeff.

____________________________

Jeff smiled and shook his head as he turned off the broadcast. Leaning back on the sofa, he began to count quietly to himself: one, two, three … He had reached five when he heard the expected sound of Marty's voice coming from behind him.

"Jeff! We won! We won!"

Jeff turned around just in time to see Marty disappear from view. With a resigned patience born of long practice, he searched for his partner's new location. Marty was now in front of the sofa, pacing with excitement.

"You wouldn't believe it, Jeff! There was this last-minute goal …"

"I already know. And you're welcome."

"… it was toward the goalie's right, but he completely missed it …" Marty ground to a halt and gave him a confused look. "What do you mean, I'm welcome?"

Jeff got up and went over to the counter to pour himself a glass of whisky. "Your broadcast. You did thank me for listening."

Marty followed him. "You heard me, then?"

"Well, of course I did, Marty." Jeff turned to regard his partner acidly. "If I can hear you from beyond the grave, why shouldn't I hear you from Wembley Stadium?" 

"Very funny." Marty gestured toward the stereo. "I meant you heard the broadcast. You had the radio on."

"And a good thing for you that I did. Otherwise, whom would you have been broadcasting to?" He made a little toasting gesture, then went back to the sofa, taking his glass and the bottle with him. 

Marty gave him a put-upon look. "It's not that impossible that someone else could hear me, in all of Britain, is it? There are psychics … other ghosts …" 

"No, you're right, Marty. And I'm sure there were any number of psychics and ghosts tuned in, hanging on to your every word." 

"I admit it's a little unlikely …"

"'A little unlikely'?!"

Marty looked down at the floor and fidgeted uncomfortably. "All right, Jeff. All right. You've made your point."

Jeff leaned back and took a long swallow of his drink. "Mind you, I liked the plug. 'Randall and Hopkirk, Investigators.' What was that for, anyway? Expecting to drum up some business for us from all the psychics and ghosts out there who need a detective?"

"I said all right!" Marty glared at him, then crossed his arms and turned his back. "So I was making a fool of myself. You don't have to keep rubbing it in!"

Jeff felt a pang of remorse. It was fun to tease his partner, but he seemed to have struck a sensitive nerve. "Oh, come on, Marty. I was only joking."

The ghost gave him a single glance over the shoulder, then turned his back again.

"You sounded like you were having fun," Jeff offered. 

Nothing. Marty just stood there, keeping his back to him. Jeff considered what to do. Marty didn't stand a chance at maintaining the silent treatment; all it would take was the right approach. "Was it a good match?" he asked.

It worked. Marty rounded on him in disbelief. "A good match? Are you serious? I thought you were listening on the radio. How would you describe it?"

"I couldn't tell you," said Jeff. "I tried to listen to the commentator, but _someone_ was talking over him the whole time, so I couldn't follow what was happening. In fact, all I'm really sure about is your opinion of the referee." He nodded his head at the space next to him. "If you think you can restrain yourself this time, want to sit down and give me the highlights?"

Marty gave him a look, then vanished. Jeff felt a quick stab of worry that he'd pushed his teasing too far, but then saw that his friend had moved to the sofa and was sitting by his side. 

"It was a great match, Jeff. Absolutely fantastic. Right off the start, Montana made this amazing pass …"

All of Marty's original excitement was back as he began to relate the details of the match. Jeff smiled to himself, then leaned back and settled in to listen.

____________________________

Looking at the pile of work facing him, Jeff sighed and wished that the weekend had lasted just a little bit longer. As if to belabor the point, Jeannie chose that moment to extract some papers from the filing cabinet and add them to the unwieldy stacks already on his desk. "I've almost got all the materials gathered together, Jeff. We should be able to go over the tax accounts tomorrow."

"Okay, Jeannie." Jeff spared her a quick glance, then tapped his pencil and focused again on the column of figures he was trying to add together. Doing the books was a necessary task in the running of a business, but it was one he had never liked. Marty had used to do the bookkeeping for their partnership, and had in fact seemed to enjoy burrowing into the numbers, to the point where Jeff had wondered if he purposely tried to uncover bad news so as to give himself something to worry over. 

Unfortunately, bookkeeping was now among the list of things that Marty was unable to do. Even more unfortunately, it was also among the list of things that Marty continued to pester him about. 

Jeff glanced behind him at where Marty was standing, peering over his shoulder at the papers on the desk. The ghost leaned forward and pointed out a set of numbers that looked just the same as all the other numbers. "I don't know, Jeff. I think there's something funny going on with the totals for April. Where are the receipts?"

Jeff obediently reached into one of the piles on his desk and spread out the sheets so Marty could examine them. Then he went back to his figures. He couldn't see anything wrong with the totals. 

"Jeff, these are from June. I need _April_."

"Oh. I think Jeannie's got them." 

Jeannie looked up from her own pile of papers. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

Jeff groaned as he realized he had slipped up again. "Uh, no, Jeannie, I didn't. That is, I was just talking to myself." He ignored the expression on Marty's face and gamely continued on. "Sorry, I guess I'm just wrapped up in all these numbers. Do you have the April receipts?" 

"I think so." She began to look through the stacks on her desk. 

Marty appeared behind her, studying the sheets as she uncovered them. "Bad news, Jeff. Looks like you copied in the wrong figures right at the start. You'll have to redo half your sums."

"That's just great!" Jeff tore out the incorrect pages, wadded them up, and threw them into the wastebin, each throw more forceful than the last.

Jeannie stared at him in surprise. "What's the matter?"

"I got the numbers wrong for April."

Puzzled, she looked at the papers in front of her. "But I just found the receipts. How do you know they're wrong?"

"Um, from the totals. The way they look. I can just tell that it has to be April that's the problem." Marty rolled his eyes at that while Jeannie simply looked skeptical. Jeff stared defiantly at them both. "I'm through. I need a break. We can do the rest tomorrow." 

"But Jeff, we were going to do the tax accounts tomorrow, and we can't even start those until we've finished these books."

"Jeannie's right, Jeff. We can't stop now. If we don't finish the books then we can't do the taxes, and if we can't do the taxes then we'll get late fees and penalties and interest payments. Then we won't be able to pay our bills, and the electricity will go off, and the phone won't work, and then where will we be? Bankruptcy!"

"We won't go bankrupt from one lousy afternoon off!" exploded Jeff.

Jeannie just looked at him for a moment, then quietly began to sort the papers on her desk back into neat stacks. "You're right. You do need a break."

Jeff glared meaningfully at Marty. "Yes. I do."

The ghost disappeared, then reappeared pretending to lean on the edge of Jeff's desk. "All right. If you're going to be this bad-tempered about it, I suppose one more day won't hurt. Anyway, we're about to get a visitor."

Surprised, Jeff looked to the doorway, then back at his partner. Marty met his gaze with a deadpan expression that stopped just short of becoming a smirk. Jeff grimaced and was about to go check when there was the sound of someone knocking on the door. 

"Hello?" said Jeannie. 

The door swung open to reveal an old woman wrapped in a shawl and hood, her clothing all black from head to toe with the exception of a silver amulet that hung around her neck. She stood on the threshold and stared into the room with an air of curiosity.

Jeannie got up and walked toward her. "Please come in. How may we help you?"

The woman passed right by her without a reply and went to the center of the room. She stood there, motionless, then closed her eyes and began to hum softly under her breath, grasping her amulet in both hands.

Jeff exchanged puzzled glances first with Jeannie, then with Marty. "Excuse me," he finally said. "I don't want to interrupt, but you do realize this is an office and not a meditation retreat, right?"

"Quiet, please." The woman resumed her humming, her eyes still closed.

Marty stared at her in amazement. "Well, that certainly didn't work, Jeff. Got any more ideas?"

Jeff turned to Jeannie, but she just shrugged her shoulders at him, looking amused. With no help coming from either of his colleagues, living or dead, he decided to try a more businesslike approach. "I'm sorry, but perhaps you've come to the wrong place by mistake. I'm Jeff Randall, and this is a private investigation firm. Do you have an inquiry you would like us to handle?"

"Oh, no," said the woman. She opened her eyes and looked around, seeming to take in Jeff and Jeannie for the first time. "I have all the answers I need, thank you. This office is haunted."

This time it was only Marty with whom Jeff exchanged a look. Marty appeared directly in front of the woman, waving his hands in her face, but there was no reaction. "I don't get it, Jeff. She doesn't seem able to see me. I don't think she's psychic."

"Haunted?" said Jeannie. "What do you mean?"

"You have had a loss, have you not?" said the woman. "Marty Hopkirk?"

Jeannie froze, staring at the visitor. "Yes," she said softly.

"He hasn't left. His spirit is still here."

Jeff looked again to Marty. The ghost waved his hands at the woman once more, then turned to him, confused. "I can't figure it out, Jeff. I could swear she doesn't know I'm here." 

Jeff acknowledged the statement with a slight nod of his head. Not for the first time, he wished there were some way he could talk to Marty without everyone else hearing him. Did the woman actually know something, or was she a fake who had coincidentally picked a place that really contained a ghost? 

His attention turned to Jeannie as he saw her reach for her chair. "Marty's here?" she said. "Jeff, you don't suppose … is it possible?"

Jeff went to her and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then turned to their visitor. "Listen, don't you think it's about time you started explaining yourself? Who are you? What do you want?"

"My name is Sarah Wimple. And I want nothing except the chance to help you communicate with Marty Hopkirk."

"Tell her you don't need any help, Jeff," said Marty. 

Jeff smiled. "And what makes you think you can communicate with him?" he challenged.

The woman smiled back. "Ah, so you do believe he's here."

Jeff felt caught out. "I didn't say that."

"It's all right. It doesn't matter whether you believe or not. The lady believes, don't you, my dear?"

"I don't know," said Jeannie slowly. "Why do you think he's here? Why would he be haunting the office … haunting us?"

"We cannot know why ghosts do what they do. The ways of spirits are mysterious."

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Marty. "I'm here to help run the business. There's nothing mysterious about it."

Jeff almost laughed, but managed to restrain himself in time. "Listen, Mrs. Wimple …"

"Miss Wimple."

"Miss Wimple, then. The death of my partner is a matter of public record, so your knowledge of it isn't very impressive. If you're here to sell us your services as a spiritual medium, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. We're not interested." 

"But my services are not for sale. I offer them for free. If you wish to remove the haunting spirit from this place, come to Atherton Manor tonight, at midnight. I shall be there."

The woman handed Jeannie a card, wrapped her shawl more tightly around herself, and swept out through the door. Jeff stared after her, unsure what to make of the whole encounter.

Marty watched her go, then whipped around, his hands on his hips. "'Remove the haunting spirit from this place'?! What did that mean? I'm not going anywhere! I refuse to be intimidated by a daft old woman who's not even psychic! And why does she automatically assume you would _want_ me removed, anyway? Tell her, Jeff. Wait 'till Jeannie's gone, then ring her up and let her know that this is an invited haunting. That you wanted me here, begged me to stay in fact."

A dozen potential replies jumped into Jeff's mind, but he suppressed them all and instead went back to Jeannie. Gently he took the woman's card from her hand, crumpled it up, and threw it in the wastebin. "She's gone, love. Don't worry, I'll call on her later and make sure she doesn't come back."

Jeannie looked up at him with a serious expression. "Jeff, what if it's true? What if Marty is really here?"

Marty appeared behind her, looking concerned. Jeff locked eyes with him for a moment, then turned back to Jeannie. "I don't believe for an instant that that woman saw Marty's ghost," he said. At least that was true enough. "She's just an old fraud, trying to take advantage of us. Forget about her."

"But how can you know she's a fraud? What if she can make contact with Marty tonight? Don't you see, I have to go, I have to give it a chance!" 

"Jeannie …"

"Look, I'm not being stupid. I know she's probably a fake, but it can't do any harm to let her try, can it? She's not charging any money." 

"That just makes the whole thing suspicious. If she doesn't want money, then what is it that she's after?"

Jeannie's expression failed to change. "Jeff, I know you don't believe in this sort of thing, but try to understand. I need to find out for myself if she's right. I'm going."

There was a resolve in her voice that Jeff knew well. He sighed and gave in. "All right. But I'm not letting you go there alone. I'm coming with you."

She looked up at him again and smiled. "Thank you."

He managed to smile back despite the fact that Marty was glaring at him over her shoulder. "Absolutely not, Jeff! I'm not having Jeannie go to any house that spooky old woman is at in the middle of the night! Come on, you heard me, talk her out of it!"

Jeff sighed again — a heavier sigh — and went back to his desk, motioning Marty over with a slight gesture. When the ghost had joined him, he checked that Jeannie was once again occupied with the papers on her desk, then whispered, "I don't like it either, but what can I do? You heard her, she's determined to go."

"Well, stop her!"

"I'm open to suggestion!" That came out a little louder than Jeff had intended, and both he and Marty glanced over at Jeannie. Fortunately she didn't seem to have noticed.

"All right, Jeff. I guess you're right, Jeannie's too set on going to be talked out of it. So I suppose I'd better come too, just in case I'm needed."

"Thanks, Marty." 

"Don't thank me. I still wish none of us were going at all."

_To be continued . . ._


	2. A Great Bargain in Séances

That evening Jeannie cooked dinner, ate it, cleaned up the dishes, turned on the television, turned it off, picked up a book, put it down again, then sat on the sofa and tried not to look at the clock. Jeff was coming by to pick her up at 10:30, but she was running out of ways to keep herself occupied until then. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and began to flip idly through it, but it failed to catch her interest. She put it back down again and sighed. Another evening at home, alone. Just like all the other evenings she had spent here alone in the year since Marty had died.

A feeling of sadness came over her, and she wondered if she should pull out Marty's letters to her and read through them again. Sometimes it made her feel better to do that. But after a moment's thought, she realized she wasn't in the mood to think about the past. It was the present that was occupying her, the possibility that within a few hours she might be speaking to her husband again.

She went to a drawer and pulled out a photo album, then returned to the sofa and sat down with it. Almost automatically, she turned to the pages containing snapshots from a trip she and Marty had taken to Scotland. He had wanted to climb Arthur's Seat, a hill so named because it provided a commanding view of Edinburgh and the Firth of Forth below. She had complained most of the way up, but Marty's enthusiasm had been undampened. And before the climb was through she had not only given in, but begun to enjoy the hike herself, because he was enjoying it so much.

She stopped at the picture she wanted: Marty standing at the top of Arthur's Seat, looking pleased and triumphant. It was one of her favorite photos, simply because he'd been so happy. She wondered if Marty was ever happy now, wherever he was. Maybe it wasn't possible to be happy after you had died. Or maybe the entire question was meaningless because there was no awareness after death, no afterlife. 

That's probably what Jeff thought, she mused. He was so prosaic, it would never occur to him that ghosts might exist, or that it might be possible to communicate with someone who had died. And yet, she believed. It was something she could never tell Jeff, but at times she had _felt_ Marty's presence. A sense would suddenly come over her, an impression that somehow Marty was there with her, watching over her and protecting her — sending her his love. She realized that it was quite possible — likely, even, she had to admit — that it was all in her imagination, just a phase she was going through while adjusting to her new status as a widow. Yet the feeling continued to occur. Most often she got it while visiting his grave, but it had happened at other times, too: late at night, when she had woken unexpectedly; when she was worried or frightened about something; when she was feeling especially sad and alone. 

She knew she was foolish for even considering it, but she couldn't help wondering if it really could be Marty visiting her. And now this woman had offered her the chance to find out. More than that, the chance to communicate with him, the chance to tell him all the things that had been left unsaid when he'd died so suddenly a year ago. If only she could speak to him one last time. If only she could tell him how much she loved him.

She fingered the photo again, then closed the album and carefully put it away.

____________________________

The penthouse balcony at the top of the Coronado hotel was one of his favorite vantage-points, and Marty made himself comfortable as he looked down on the streets of London spread out beneath him. This evening it was especially clear, and he could see the Thames in the distance, its water glittering in the combination of moonlight and the yellow light reflected from the streetlamps by the water's edge.

He had spent the entire night in this spot more than once, listening to the sounds of the people and traffic on the streets, watching their ever-changing movements below and the slower-moving stars above. Like the stars, he was a part of the city and yet separate from it; an observer rather than a participant.

Sometimes it was hard to be a ghost.

And yet, he mused, he did like to observe. He was a detective, after all, and observing people — trying to figure out the motives for their actions — was an activity he had always enjoyed that continued to give him pleasure even now. In fact, there was something about being a ghost that made observation more rewarding than ever. He wouldn't have guessed it before he'd died, but just watching his wife do the simplest things gave him a peaceful contentment. It didn't matter that she had no way of knowing he was there; it was enough just to be with her, to see that she was safe and happy and well, and if she wasn't, to try to make her so. And he could still take action in the world, influence the things that went on, in little ways on his own and in bigger ways through his relationship with Jeff. 

That was another thing that had remained the same, he reflected. His friendship with Jeff was as strong as it had been when he was alive. And although some details of their relationship were now different, its fundamental aspects — how they worked together and interacted with each other — were unchanged. He remained a full partner in the agency, not only contributing his special skills as a ghost but also still working as a detective, figuring out clues and making deductions that gave them a new lead or even cracked a whole case. He enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment that gave him, of knowing that his existence continued to have meaning and importance. 

But it was still frustrating when he was confronted with a situation in which, as a ghost, he was basically helpless. Such as this séance Jeannie wanted to go to at Atherton Manor. He wasn't happy about it, and the more he thought about it, the less happy he felt. He just didn't like séances, or spooky old women, or anything supernatural at all, and he definitely didn't trust this Miss Wimple person. She was probably simply a fraud — after all, how could she claim to be able to communicate with him later at a manor house when she couldn't do it while he was standing right in front of her — but something about her made him uneasy. In fact, something about the whole thing made him uneasy. He didn't like it, that was the bottom line, and he especially didn't like the fact that Jeannie was going to be there. His wife was heading into a potentially dangerous situation, and there was nothing he could do about it. Except show up and do his best to protect her during the course of whatever happened there.

He looked into the night and shivered. It wasn't the cold that bothered him, as that he couldn't feel; rather it was a sense of foreboding that he wasn't able to shake. He hoped that it was just his overactive imagination and nothing more.

____________________________

Atherton Manor was a rather grandiose and impressive piece of architecture, and Jeff felt a little self-conscious as he parked his rather unimpressive and beat-up car by the front walkway.

"Well," said Jeannie, "I suppose this is it." 

Jeff looked over at where she was still sitting, making no move to get out of the car. "Look, love, we don't have to do this. Say the word and I'll turn right back around again and drive you home."

"No, please Jeff. I want to do this. I'm just … nervous."

Surprised, he said, "Nervous of what?"

"Nervous that it won't work — that we won't make contact with Marty tonight." She paused, then smiled ruefully. "And nervous that we will. Silly, isn't it?"

"No," he said reassuringly, "not silly at all." He looked again at Jeannie and tried to imagine what this must be like for her. He spoke to Marty all the time; it was hard to remember that the last time Jeannie had talked to her husband was a year ago, the night Marty had died. He wondered how he would feel if Marty had never come back and appeared to him as a ghost. Would he, like Jeannie, be willing to grab at any chance to communicate with him again, however briefly?

With a deep breath, Jeannie opened the car door and got out. Jeff followed, and together they walked up the path to the manor house and were welcomed inside by Miss Wimple. Surprisingly, the inside of the manor was not as impressive as its outside. Dust and grime lined the walls, and there were cobwebs in the corners. For such a nice estate, it wasn't being kept up very well.

Jeff let Jeannie walk ahead of him, then hung back until he was alone in the hall. He was a little surprised that Marty hadn't shown up yet, but he had learned that his partner was no longer as punctual as he had used to be. Apparently being a ghost meant you tended to lose track of time. "Marty?" he called softly. "Marty?" 

At the penthouse balcony, Marty became aware that Jeff was calling to him. Taking a last look out at the view, he closed his eyes and transferred to Jeff's flat. 

"Marty?" 

"Hello, Jeff …" Marty stopped and looked around. He was alone. The flat was empty.

The call came again, sounding more irritated. "Marty! Where are you?"

"All right, hang on," he said, even though he knew Jeff couldn't hear him. Closing his eyes again, he homed in on the sound this time and opened his eyes to find himself in a hallway, facing a portrait of a rather grumpy-looking man. He turned around and came face-to-face with Jeff. He decided that, on the whole, the portrait had looked more pleased.

"It's about time!" hissed his partner. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, Jeff. Technical difficulties."

" _Technical_ difficulties?"

"That's right." Marty did his best to look mysterious, hoping Jeff wouldn't press the issue. "What's up?" 

"We're at Atherton Manor. I thought you said you would be here."

"Oh." Marty looked around at the grim and dusty surroundings. "Time already, is it?"

Jeff seemed about to reply when he was interrupted by Miss Wimple calling down the hall. "Mr. Randall! Mr. Randall, are you coming?"

"I'll be right there!" Jeff called back. His voice lowered again. "Come on, Marty. I know you don't like this sort of thing, but this séance is important to Jeannie. We'll give Miss Wimple every chance. And it's going to be hard for her to contact you if you're not even here!"

"All right, let's go." Marty gestured for Jeff to lead the way, then followed behind, trying not to feel like a fly heading into the spider's web.

____________________________

Jeff surveyed the room and decided that whoever had decorated it must have seen one too many old horror films. Several unlit candelabra were placed here and there about the space, interspersed with antique furniture of no particular use and even less aesthetic value, all covered with a thick layer of dust. Black velvet curtains hung over the french doors, and strange objects were placed on the various surfaces, all adorned with mystic symbols. Long trailing cobwebs hung from the ceiling in multiple spots. Finally, one entire wall was dominated by a large mirror in a golden frame.

"Interesting," said Jeannie, looking around. "This place really puts one in the mood for a séance, doesn't it?"

Marty made a closer inspection of one of the weird artifacts. "Well, it doesn't put me in the mood, that's for sure. What is all this stuff, anyway? And would it kill her to bring in a cleaner once a decade?"

"The former owner of this house, Mrs. Winchester, was rather into the occult," said Miss Wimple. "This was the room she used to store all the mystical objects she collected over her lifetime. The decor may disturb you, but I assure you that the resulting vibrations are quite conducive to contacting departed spirits." She lit a single candle and placed it in the center of a small round table, then turned off the lights. "Sit," she commanded, gesturing to Jeff and Jeannie. 

With the black clothes she was wearing and the dimness of the room, she was a shadowy figure among shadows, except for the silver amulet around her throat that shimmered in the candlelight. Jeannie sat down and Jeff sat next to her, automatically leaving extra room for Marty. If Miss Wimple was surprised at the spacing, she gave no sign of it. She stretched out her arms to them. "We must hold hands and form a circle to welcome the spirit here."

"Oh yes, very welcoming. Just what I've always wanted, a circle." Marty sat down next to Jeff and peered around anxiously into the darkness. "Tell her that if she really wants to make me feel welcome, she should turn the lights back on."

Jeff coughed and put a hand to his mouth, trying to hide his smile. Becoming a ghost had not diminished Marty's nervous tendencies in the slightest. It was amusing that Marty would be afraid of the dark when he himself was now the precise type of being that was a cause of that fear in others, but it was really just another example of how death had done nothing to change Marty's basic nature. He was still the same person, and Jeff had long ago learned to deal with his sometimes over-anxious and worried reactions. It was one of the reasons why they worked well together, because they balanced each other out. Occasionally Jeff wondered what would have happened if he had been the one who'd died and tried to come back to Marty as a ghost. Probably he would have given Marty a heart attack the first time he appeared, and they would now both be dead.

"Concentrate," said Miss Wimple, looking at Jeff severely. "Shut out your wordly concerns and focus on Marty Hopkirk. Bring his spirit here." 

Jeff saw Jeannie close her eyes. Miss Wimple kept her gaze on him so he closed his eyes too, trying not to feel too foolish. 

"Call Mr. Hopkirk to us. Visualize him here in the room." 

They sat in silence for what seemed a long time. Jeff wondered what was supposed to happen, if anything. In the meantime he had nothing to do but sit there like an idiot with his eyes closed. There was no point in calling Marty when he was already in the room, and there would be no need to visualize Marty if Miss Wimple would just allow him to open his eyes again and see him. The whole exercise was silly, and Miss Wimple was obviously a fake. Probably she hoped to hook them on her services just enough that they would be willing to pay her money to come back and try again.

Thoroughly bored, Jeff risked opening his eyes and looked at the ghost he was supposed to be contacting. Marty had his feet up on the table, but he put them down again when he noticed Jeff looking at him, then leaned forward and waggled his finger. "You're not concentrating, Jeff. I'm not being called to you one bit. You're not visualizing me at all, are you?"

Jeff wished Marty were solid so he could kick him under the table. 

Whether because she had noticed Jeff's eyes were open, or for some other reason, Miss Wimple chose that moment to speak again. "Try to feel Mr. Hopkirk's presence. Are you getting anything?" 

"No," said Jeannie with a sigh. "There's nothing."

"How about you, Mr. Randall? Have you been able to visualize your partner in the room?"

"I'm afraid I'm not good at visualization." Jeff caught Marty's gaze. "And it's not as if he was that memorable to look at." The ghost glowered at him, and Jeff had to hide another smile.

"You're the expert, Miss Wimple," said Jeannie. "Please, just tell us. Is Marty here? Can you sense him?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hopkirk, but I'm merely a facilitator. If the two of you, who were closest in life to Marty Hopkirk, are unable to reach him even here within this room, then there is little else that I can do. Unless …" she paused, and Jeannie looked at her with hope. "As I told you, Mrs. Winchester used to own this house, and she was interested in the supernatural. She was particularly interested in spirits, so much so that the locals believe she became one when she died. It's why I have trouble finding staff to help out with the upkeep of the manor. She's known as the Atherton Ghost. If we invoke her properly, she may appear to us and serve as an intermediary to contact Mr. Hopkirk."

"Marvelous," said Marty sarcastically. "That's certainly got me wanting to stick around. Come on, Jeff, let's get out of here before this Atherton Ghost shows up and demonstrates what some of these strange objects are meant to do."

"Perhaps it is time we were going." Jeff rose to his feet. He didn't believe the story of the Atherton Ghost — it seemed a ploy to string them along — but there was no point in staying any longer. "Thank you for your efforts, Miss Wimple, but it's very late, and I think Mrs. Hopkirk and I are both finished with trying to contact ghosts for the night."

Miss Wimple looked alarmed. "No, don't leave! Please, let's try just one more thing. It will only take a moment. And we don't have to invoke the Atherton Ghost if you don't wish to."

Jeff hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Marty gestured toward the door, clearly impatient to be off, but Jeannie was still sitting at the table and looking disappointed. "All right," he said. "We'll give you five more minutes. What did you want to try?"

"Stand over here, by the mirror. And Mrs. Hopkirk, if you could come stand on the other side?" Jeannie did as she requested, and Jeff followed suit. "Now close your eyes and concentrate on Marty Hopkirk." She stood in front of them, facing the mirror, then closed her own eyes and clutched her amulet as she had done in the office that morning. Jeff glanced at Jeannie and saw that her eyes were shut as well. He wondered what this was meant to accomplish. How was concentrating by the mirror any different from concentrating at the table? He looked over at Marty, who was standing by the door, and shrugged his shoulders at him. 

"Mr. Hopkirk," called Miss Wimple without opening her eyes. "Mr. Hopkirk, if you are present, come to us. Appear between your wife and your friend, make your presence known to them." 

Marty made no move to leave the vicinity of the door. "Come on, Jeff. Can't we please go now?"

"Mrs. Hopkirk," said Miss Wimple. "Perhaps if you tried. Ask your husband to come stand next to you."

"Marty?" called Jeannie cautiously. "Marty, are you here?"

Marty looked at his widow, then back at the door. Jeff gestured for him to come over.

"Oh, what's the use, Jeff? It won't make any difference." 

"Please, Marty," said Jeannie, her eyes still closed. "Come to me."

Marty's expression changed, and he took a step towards her. He seemed to struggle for a moment, then said, "All right, Jeannie. If it's what you want, we can give it one more try." Jeff saw him disappear, then reappear next to Jeannie and in front of the mirror. "I'm here, darling," he said.

Miss Wimple held up the amulet. A sudden strong wind went through the room, then there was a burst of light. Temporarily blinded, Jeff staggered back and felt the wind increase, the force of it pushing him down to the floor. He heard Jeannie call to him and he struggled to get to her, head bent down, arms reaching blindly out. Then the light vanished and the wind cut off as abruptly as it had started. The room was again lit by the lone candle, and everything was eerily calm. He blinked, trying to adapt his sight once more to the dim lighting, and made out Jeannie on the floor a few feet away. He went to her and gently drew her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Her voice was shaky, but she seemed more angry than frightened. "You were right all along. I think we've had enough of these parlour games." She looked accusingly at Miss Wimple, who was standing and smiling benevolently at them. "That was a very nice effect you created. I hope you enjoyed it, because we certainly didn't."

Jeff glanced uneasily around the room. He wasn't altogether certain that the "effect" hadn't been the Atherton Ghost after all, making an entrance, but he decided there was no point in hanging about to find out for sure. Also Marty was nowhere to be seen, which wasn't a good sign. Although it was just typical of him to take off at the first hint of another ghost. 

Jeff looked at Miss Wimple, but she continued to simply stand there and gaze at them happily. "Come on, Jeannie. Let's get out of here." He pushed past their hostess and guided Jeannie to the door. 

"I'm sorry, Jeff," she said as they made their way to the car. "What a disaster."

"It's all right. You had to give it a try. Anyway, it's over now."

"I guess it could have been worse. We could have paid money for that experience."

Jeff smiled. If Miss Wimple was hoping that her demonstration by the mirror would convince them to return and hire her services, then she was going to be disappointed. The whole night had been a huge waste of time, and they still had over an hour's drive back to London, but Jeannie was right, it could have been worse. 

At least they hadn't lost anything.

The two of them got into the car, then Jeff started the motor and drove away.


	3. You Always Know Who Your Friends Are

Jeff awoke the next morning feeling well rested. Lazily he stretched, glanced at the clock, rolled over, then suddenly rolled back and looked at the clock again. No, he hadn't been wrong: the time was nearly noon. 

He must have forgotten to set the alarm last night, but it was surprising that Marty hadn't woken him up either. Much as Marty complained about how difficult Jeff was to wake up, he usually found a way, especially when they had something like the account books still to finish. Jeff hastily got up and looked around, but he was alone in the flat. Maybe Marty was feeling guilty about having left so suddenly during Miss Wimple's wind-and-light show at the séance, and had decided to make it up to him with a few extra hours of rest.

Jeff started to make breakfast, expecting at any moment to hear Marty cheerfully say good morning — or sarcastically say good afternoon, which was far more likely considering both the lateness of the hour and Marty's personality. Braced for the assault, he drank his coffee, ate his toast, shaved, showered, and dressed. He was surprised when he got all the way through without his partner making an appearance. Very strange. Marty must be feeling even guiltier than he had thought.

The drive to work was similarly ghost-free, and Jeff whistled as he climbed the stairs to their office. Maybe he could get some real mileage out of this. A few well-timed remarks, and Marty might let him put off the account books for another whole day. It was a nice thought to contemplate. 

He opened the door and looked inside. Jeannie was at her desk, sorting through paperwork, but there was still no sign of Marty. 

"Jeff? What are you looking for?" asked Jeannie, noticing him standing there.

"Oh, nothing." Jeff came in and took off his jacket. "How are you doing, Jeannie? Have you recovered from last night?"

"I'm fine. A little tired, that's all." She smiled and looked pointedly at her watch. "But at least I made it in before lunchtime."

"Touché, Madame." Jeff sat down at his desk. There was an immense pile of paper on it, and he picked up the topmost sheet and glanced at it dispiritedly. "Listen, since the day's nearly shot, what would you say to giving it a miss and starting off fresh tomorrow?"

"Oh, no you don't. There's too much for us to get through." She got up and ceremoniously dumped a set of receipts into his lap. "April, remember? Start re-doing your sums."

"Great." Jeff sighed and reached for his pencil. He couldn't win — just when one Hopkirk was leaving him alone for a change, the other one stepped in. He retrieved the April receipts from his lap and methodically but unenthusiastically began to add the totals together. 

The two of them worked in silence for some time, then Jeannie got up and started to put on her coat. Jeff looked at her in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I have a dentist appointment. I told you about it yesterday, remember?"

He didn't remember, although he nodded as if he did. "Oh, right. Are you through for the day, or will you be back?"

"I'll be back." She walked over to him and leaned forward, fixing him with a mock maternal stare. "And I'll be checking up on you, too. So don't get any ideas about leaving early, Jeffrey Randall. I expect you to be finished by the time I return."

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Good." She smiled at him. "See you soon." 

"Ciao, Jean."

He watched her leave, then leaned back and flipped through the remaining pile of papers. He was making good progress. April had been corrected, May was finished, and he was halfway through June, which marked the end of their fiscal year. Only about another hour to go and he'd be done. Assuming, of course, he hadn't made any more mistakes. He should probably get Marty to check his work.

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he took a look around the empty office. "Marty?" he called. "Marty?" 

He waited, but there was no response. This was getting ridiculous. Was his partner planning on avoiding him all day? "Marty? Where've you got to?" He sat up in the chair and put down his coffee mug. "Come on, I'm not mad at you. I just need your help with these books."

Again he waited. Nothing. Jeff stood, feeling exasperated. "Marty! _Marty!_ Don't tell me you're not even listening in!"

He looked around the room, expecting to see the ghost appear, but there was still no sign of him. Jeff sighed and sat down again. Generally he was able to get Marty's attention simply by calling for him, but not always, and apparently this was one of those times. Or else Marty was staying away on purpose — but it wasn't like him to pass up the chance to oversee their account books. No, he was probably off somewhere, doing something ghostly in some mysterious location. Exactly where Marty went in his off-hours, and what he did to occupy his time, was something Jeff hadn't yet been able to pin his partner down on. On the other hand, Jeff wasn't sure he really wanted to know. 

Picking up his coffee again, Jeff went back to the account books and began to work on the last half of June. He was well into the figures when he felt a familiar drop in temperature, then saw the window blinds flapping in an unnatural breeze. He put down the papers in his hand and spoke aloud to the air. "So, you've finally decided to show up, have you? Here, I'm just about done with the books. Take a look and see if you can find any more problems." 

Jeff turned the pages back to the beginning of April and leaned forward, expecting to see Marty appear in front of him. Instead the wind increased, and the blinds flapped even harder. Jeff leaned back again and looked at his watch. "You will let me know when you're through, won't you? Or did you want to forget the books after all?"

The blinds stilled. 

"I thought as much," said Jeff. He leaned forward again, only to see his box of paperclips begin to move in a series of rapid shakes, spilling its contents into little piles that shortly became strewn all over the surface of his desk. 

Jeff crossed his arms and watched with a long-suffering, sardonic expression. "Very good. We'll have you up to rattling chains in no time. Now will you please stop fooling around and materialize?"

He waited, but nothing happened. Just as he started to get impatient again, the pages in front of him began to flutter and the account ledger blew completely closed. He gazed at the ledger with mingled irritation and surprise. "What was that about?" He looked around the office, but the ghost was still nowhere to be seen. "Come on, Marty. What are you up to?" 

Again there was no answer. Then a wind went around the office, and the carefully organized receipts on his desk blew off and scattered into a haphazard heap on the floor.

Jeff jumped to his feet. "What'd you do that for?!" He surveyed the room, but Marty continued to remain invisible. "Come on, if you won't materialize, then at least say something! Why'd you mix up those receipts? Do you know how long it will take me to get them back in order?"

Once again, there was no response. But the receipts on Jeannie's desk began to fly off and join the pile of paper on the floor.

"Stop it, Marty! Why are you acting like this?" Jeff looked fruitlessly around the room. "Look, if you're mad at me, just talk to me, will you? Quit messing about and materialize! What's wrong?"

There was no overt answer, but Jeff's coffee mug — his favorite that he'd had for years, as Marty well knew — began to rattle and drift precariously close to the edge of the desk. 

"Marty! You'd better not!"

The coffee mug's shaking increased. Jeff made a lunge for it, but he was too late. With a final invisible push, the mug tipped over the edge of the desk and landed on top of the receipts on the floor, shattering into a mess of broken ceramic and spilt coffee.

Jeff felt his temper flare. "Right, that's it. I'm through playing 'poltergeist' with you." He grabbed his coat, stalked to the door, then turned around and addressed himself to the air. "If you change your mind later and decide to actually tell me what's wrong, I'm sure you'll know where to find me. Until then, do me a favor and get lost!" 

He regarded the mess with an angry glare, then slammed the door closed behind him.

____________________________

The pub was crowded with people just coming off of work, but Vicki took a second look at the tall, rather weathered man standing near the door. Not the usual standard in good looks, but he did have a rugged style that made him rather appealing. And he was smiling at her in a charming way that made her think it might not be a bad idea to get to know him a little better.

She smiled back, and the next thing she knew he had pushed his way through the intervening people and was standing by her side. "Hello," the man said. "I've just made a bet, and you're the only person in this whole pub who can help settle it."

"What bet?" she found herself asking.

"That you're the type of person who twirls her spaghetti clockwise on the fork rather than counterclockwise." He offered her his arm. "I happen to know an excellent Italian restaurant just down the street from here. Shall we go to dinner and find out if I won?"

Whatever else could be said for him, he certainly wasn't shy. "Won't your friend need to come along, too?"

"What friend?"

"The one you made the bet with."

"No," he said, and smiled. "You see, the bet was with myself. I win either way. That is, as long as you come to dinner with me." 

She laughed and took his arm. "That is the most original chat-up line I've heard for a long time. I'm Vicki. What's your name?"

"Jeff. Jeff Randall."

"Well, Jeff Randall, it's still a little early yet for dinner, so what would you say to buying me a few more drinks before we leave?"

"I say that sounds like an excellent idea." 

They got their drinks, found a table, and sat down. For some reason, their corner of the pub felt colder than the main area. Vicki pulled on her sweater and took out a cigarette. "Do you have a light?" she asked. 

Jeff got out a lighter and flicked it on. But before she could put her cigarette to it, the flame went out. Jeff's eyes narrowed and he cast a suspicious look around the table. She tried to follow his gaze, but saw nothing. "Trouble?" she asked.

His attention turned back to her. "No, no trouble." He flicked on the lighter again. 

And it went out again. "Stop it," Jeff hissed, scowling.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry," he said, and his expression became nicer once more. "I'm just annoyed at the trouble I'm having with this lighter. But I'm sure it won't happen again."

"Really?" she said, trying to sound teasing. 

"It had better not," he said darkly and with a peculiar emphasis.

This was starting to get odd. Why was he taking a malfunctioning lighter so personally? "It's no big deal. I'm trying to cut down anyway."

"No, let's try it again." He flicked the lighter on once more. 

She held up her cigarette, he brought the lighter up to the end, and again the flame went out. It was almost as if someone had blown on it.

The man's face turned red. "Marty! I'm warning you!"

Vicki took a careful look around. "Who are you talking to? Who's Marty?"

He glared at the air around the immediate vicinity of their table. "Someone who doesn't even have the courtesy to show his face while he's making my life miserable."

There was definitely something weird going on with this one, Vicki decided. She fumbled for her handbag. "Look, perhaps I had better just leave you, the lighter, and this invisible 'Marty' character alone."

He immediately looked apologetic, reaching out and touching her hand. "No, please wait. I'm sorry I've been acting a little strange. I've just been … preoccupied, and it's not fair to you. Please give me the chance to redeem myself."

She hesitated, seeing once more the charm that he could exude. At last she decided she might as well stay to finish off her drink. "All right." 

Absently she reached for her glass, but to her surprise her hand touched nothing but air. She looked down and saw that the glass was farther away from her than she had thought. She reached for it again, but somehow managed to miss once more. She took another look down at the glass, then stopped cold. The glass was moving across the table. All by itself.

Frightened, she looked up at her tablemate. He was watching the glass too, but he seemed anything but scared. In fact, he seemed angry.

"How …" she began, then paused. The glass had stopped moving and was now sitting normally on the table.

Jeff looked at her guilelessly. "How what?"

"The glass! How did it move?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Don't try to pull that. The glass moved. I saw it. You did, too." She looked nervously around.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." He reached for his own drink, but missed as it floated off the table and hung unsupported in thin air. She gasped in alarm. Again he showed no fear, but instead quickly grabbed for the levitating drink and set it down again, followed by a rapid embarrassed glance around the room. 

That was enough. More than enough. She clutched at her handbag and hastily got to her feet.

"Vicki, please! It's all right, really. Don't go!"

She extracted herself from the table and hurriedly backed away. "Sorry, must dash, I forgot, I've got an appointment, very urgent, I'm sure they'll get worried if I'm not there, I'd better go, goodbye." With a final terrified glance she practically ran for the exit, hoping she would never encounter anyone remotely like Jeff Randall again.

____________________________

Jeff fumed as he left the pub. Having a ghost for a partner wasn't easy, and he had learned to put up with a lot of things, but this was crossing the line. How dare Marty do that to him?

Certainly this wasn't the first time the ghost had interfered with one of his dates — in fact, his partner seemed to specialize in it — but every other time, Marty had been solely concerned with getting Jeff's attention turned to some urgent problem, or at least a problem Marty thought was urgent. This time, Marty had deliberately set out to frighten the girl away. And certainly the two of them had had their share of arguments in the past, but never before had Marty been so spiteful, carrying on invisibly with petty tricks instead of confronting him directly. 

Well, thought Jeff, if this was the way Marty wanted to play it, that was fine with him. Maybe he couldn't pull tricks on a ghost in return, but he could ignore the tricks, and he could ignore the ghost as well. Sooner or later — more likely sooner, knowing Marty — his partner was going to get tired of the games and want to talk again. Then let him see what happened.

Jeff smiled grimly, imagining his revenge while he stomped up the stairs to his flat. He opened the door and stopped in surprise as he saw Jeannie getting up from his sofa.

"Jeannie! What are you doing here? Is something the matter?"

"Your porter let me in. And as for what's the matter, I think you're the one who needs to tell me."

"What do you mean?" 

"The office, Jeff. It looks like it was hit by a hurricane! I realize you get frustrated with the financials, but did you really have to throw all the papers on the floor and your coffee mug after them? It'll take hours to get them all legible and sorted out again!"

"The office," groaned Jeff. He sank into a chair and looked at her. "I'm sorry, really I am. I forgot you were coming back or I wouldn't have left it like that."

"But why did you do it in the first place? Was adding up the books really that terrible? You were almost finished!"

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just something that happened. I'll go in early tomorrow and …" He paused as his eye caught movement behind her. He stood up to get a better view and saw a vase float serenely by.

Jeannie turned to see what he was looking at, and froze. "Jeff …"

Automatically he reached out a reassuring hand. "It's all right, Jeannie." 

She continued to watch, mesmerized, as the vase completed its journey and settled on to the dresser. "How … what …"

"I don't know. But I'm sure there's a rational explanation." Mentally he cursed Marty. Why had he done that? What was he up to now?

Jeannie continued to stare at the vase. "But you did see it, right? I mean, it wasn't just me?"

"Yes, I saw it. But don't worry, I don't think we're about to be attacked by a poltergeist."

The words had barely left his mouth when a wind blasted through the flat and the cupboard doors above his kitchen counter blew open. Bowls and plates began to fly out of the cupboard and fall crashing to the floor. And then the dishes were no longer falling to the floor but shooting across the room in their direction, like missiles being fired from a cannon. Jeannie ducked just in time as a particularly large serving platter hurtled its way towards her head.

"Get down!" Jeff cried, and he grabbed her and pushed her underneath the kitchen table. He joined her there and they huddled together, relatively sheltered from the barrage, watching his entire collection of crockery shatter into pieces around them. Jeannie was shaking and Jeff tried to comfort her while he raged to himself in black anger. This was the final straw. Blowing papers and levitating glasses had been one thing, but throwing dishes at them was something else again entirely. Look at Jeannie, she was terrified, and she had almost been injured by that platter; how could Marty be doing this? How angry could he possibly be that he would risk hurting Jeannie?

And just like that the answer came to him, and his rage evaporated as he suddenly understood. Like a person first stumped by a magician's trick and then shown how it was done, he saw the assumption he'd been making that had been wrong all along. 

This wasn't Marty. It hadn't been Marty all day.

Jeff looked up and appraised their situation with new eyes. The rate of the attack was slowing down, most likely because the ghost was running out of dishes, but he didn't intend to hang about until it discovered new ammunition. "Come on, Jeannie. We're getting out of here." He awkwardly switched to a crouching position, then grabbed her hand and waited for a lull. "Now!" he shouted and tugged her behind him as he ducked out from under the table and sprinted toward the door. 

They made it out and into the hallway, and when they had reached safety Jeff leaned back gratefully against the wall. Through the half-open door he could still see an occasional bowl crash or plate fly through the air. He reached out a foot and swung the door completely closed, then turned to Jeannie. "Are you okay?"

She nodded her head. "A little shaken, that's all. How about you?"

"I'm furious. I should have realized sooner …"

"Realized what?"

He paused as he thought back over recent events, organizing and re-interpreting them. "That something happened last night at Atherton Manor, and I need to go back there and find out what it was."


	4. Dead Men Tell No Tales

Jeff spent the drive out to the manor house replaying the last moments of the séance in his head and calling out to Marty. Every time he called and Marty failed to answer, the knot in his stomach twisted a little tighter. Something was wrong. He remembered the sudden wind and flash of light, and how afterwards Marty had been nowhere to be seen. What exactly had happened, and how was it connected with Marty's failure to reappear?

Jeff put his foot down harder on the accelerator, increasing his speed. Somehow he had lost Marty and picked up another ghost, and whatever was going on, the answer lay at Atherton Manor. And this time, Jeff vowed with grim determination, he wasn't leaving until he knew what had happened to his partner.

He arrived at the estate and banged loudly on the door, but there was no answer. He checked his watch. It was only nine o'clock, so Miss Wimple was unlikely to be sleeping. She might be out for the night. He moved around to the side of the building and inspected the windows, looking for the best way to break in.

A wind followed him and began kicking up the dirt at his feet, making a dust cloud and pelting him with clods of earth. Jeff turned and stared angrily into the night. "I don't know who you are, but I can guess. So listen. When I came here last night I had another ghost with me, and I know you're not him. I also know that something happened to him, and I'm not leaving until I find out what. So if you really want to get rid of me, you'll help me get inside, because the sooner I get the answers, the sooner I'll go away."

"Well then, Mr. Randall," said a voice from behind him, "you'd better come in." 

Jeff spun around and saw Miss Wimple standing in the bushes with a torch. She beckoned to him with a smile. He left the window and joined her, brushing off the dirt from his clothes.

"Don't mind Mrs. Winchester," she said as they walked inside. "I'm afraid she's been a little mischievous, but she really meant you no harm."

"Mrs. Winchester being the ghost?" asked Jeff.

"The Atherton Ghost, yes." She looked at him as they reached the room they had used the previous night and sat down. "You were skeptical when I told you about her, but I knew you believed in the possibility. Just as I knew you believed in the ghost of Marty Hopkirk, although you were pretending you didn't."

"So you are psychic after all."

"No. But Mrs. Winchester left me her amulet, just as she left me the other mystical objects she owned." Miss Wimple caught at the chain around her neck and held it up. "The amulet allows its wearer to hear the voices of spirits. So I knew of Mr. Hopkirk's presence, and when he spoke to you, I knew you could hear him, too." 

"Well," said Jeff, "now that everything's out in the open, I only have one question." He leaned forward in his chair. "Where is Marty Hopkirk?"

"Oh, but I'm sorry, Mr. Randall. I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true. All I know is that he's gone."

"Gone," repeated Jeff evenly. "What do you mean, he's _gone?_ "

"We needed him."

Jeff leapt to his feet. "Well, you can't have him!"

"Please, Mr. Randall. Sit down. Try to stay calm."

"What did you do to him?!"

Miss Wimple looked down and fretfully rubbed her hands. "Oh, dear. If I'd had any idea you would feel this strongly, I would have tried to find another ghost … although it took us a long time to find Mr. Hopkirk, and we were quite lucky to happen upon him … but you gave no indication that you were at all attached … and there certainly aren't many ghosts on the radio …"

Jeff was having trouble following her. "On the radio?"

"Yes. I was listening to a football match while wearing the amulet and suddenly there he was, giving commentary. And he was so considerate, including his name and the name of your office. Made everything so much simpler to find him."

Jeff sat down again and took a deep breath. "So the whole séance was a lure to get Marty here?"

Miss Wimple looked embarrassed. "Yes, I'm afraid it was."

"Then we're back to my original question. What did you do to him?"

"Well, strictly speaking, I did nothing. It was the Atherton Ghost …"

Jeff struggled to keep a grip on his patience. "All right. Then what did she do?"

"Only what was necessary. You see, Mrs. Winchester tried to return here as a spirit when she died, but she became trapped in that mirror." Miss Wimple gestured toward the large, gold-framed mirror on the wall. "You see, it's not just a mirror, it's a mystical object, like the amulet, with rather special properties … but when Mrs. Winchester returned she unfortunately got caught, and in order to get her freedom she needed to use the energy of another ghost. I could hear her when I was wearing the amulet, so she told me what had happened and asked me to help. It was nothing personal, really. And if I'd had any idea …" 

"Yes, so you said. Now, one more time. _What did she do?_ "

"I'm sorry, I don't really know how it worked. I was just supposed to have Mr. Hopkirk stand by the mirror as I held up the amulet. That enabled Mrs. Winchester to latch on to him, as it were, and use his energy to free herself. Now she's here, and Mr. Hopkirk has been … well, removed."

"Removed to where?"

"I told you, I don't know."

Jeff abruptly got up and went over to the mirror. Despite its large size and alleged mystical origin, it seemed in all respects perfectly ordinary. He began to run his hands over it, looking for a clue, a lead … there had to be something … The glass felt solid wherever he touched, and normal. No tingling, no mystical energies, nothing. He turned back around to Miss Wimple. "Give me the amulet."

"What?"

Jeff strode over and grabbed at the chain around her neck, pulling the amulet over her head. 

"Mr. Randall!"

He ignored her, going back to the mirror and holding up the amulet as he had seen her hold it up the previous night. "Marty! Marty, can you hear me?" 

Silence. Jeff brought the amulet into contact with the glass and called again. "Marty! Answer me!" 

Once more there was no response. He placed the chain around his neck and tried again, calling with the amulet in his hand and then with it in contact with the glass. Still there was nothing. The mirror felt ordinary. The amulet felt ordinary. He looked at his reflection and saw the face of desperation looking back at him.

Miss Wimple came up behind him and touched his shoulder. "Mr. Randall, please. This won't do any good. I told you, it's too late. It's over, it's done."

Jeff continued to pass the amulet randomly over the glass. "No. You can't be right. You can't be!"

Gently she pried the amulet from him and hung it back around her neck. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

He stared at her wildly, trying to think of what to do next. There had to be something for him to do next. 

"I'm sorry," said Miss Wimple again.

Jeff looked at her and at the empty mirror one more time. Then he turned and, without a word, walked out the door.

____________________________

The late-night wind wrestled with the trees and a chill mist clung to the grass, giving the place an abandoned and forlorn look that accentuated its already mournful atmosphere. Jeff shivered in the cold as he walked down the path, the beam of the torch he held lighting his way one hurried step at a time.

He arrived at his destination and drew to a halt, letting the beam rise from the brittle grass to the cold, bleak slab of stone. 

Marty's grave.

He almost never came here. Not that he purposely avoided the place; there just usually wasn't any reason why he should bother to come out. He knew Jeannie came on a regular basis because it made her feel closer to Marty. In fact, there were fresh flowers on the grave that must have been left by her on her last visit. But there had been no need for him to come here when he could talk to Marty whenever he wanted to. 

Until now. It was a last desperate hope, but he knew that if there were any place left on earth where he could still reach his partner, it was here.

"Marty?" he called. "Marty, it's me. Can you hear me? Can you answer me?"

Anxiously he surveyed the area around the grave. No one else was around at that hour, but for once he wouldn't have cared if he'd been surrounded by crowds. He turned toward the rest of the cemetery, directing the torch beam into the shadows. "Marty? Marty! Please, answer me! Marty!"

He paused to listen, straining to hear a reply against the meaningless noise of the wind. He continued to pass the torch beam around, hoping against despair to see his friend materialize in a previously dark corner, then called to him again and again, stopping to listen each time.

But there was nothing. 

Marty was gone — snatched away as suddenly, as nonsensically as when he had been killed. Jeff still dreamt about it sometimes. The two of them had been talking in the office, Marty had left to go home, and a few minutes later he was dead — murdered because of a divorce case that up until then had seemed routine. In Jeff's dream he would try to save Marty by finding some pretext to keep him in the office, but he was invariably unable to warn his partner or otherwise prevent the death from happening. 

Yet Marty had returned from death. On the night of his funeral he had appeared to Jeff on this very spot, asking for help in solving his own murder. He had only been supposed to stay for a brief time, but then he had broken the rules by remaining past dawn in order to save Jeff's life, and as a result had been cursed to remain on earth as a ghost for a hundred years. So the two of them had picked up their partnership right where it had left off, and Jeff had got used to the idea that Marty would always be there.

Now a seemingly harmless séance had led to the same crashing loss all over again. What was it Miss Wimple had said? "Remove the haunting spirit from this place." Why hadn't he taken her more seriously? Why had he agreed to the séance in the first place, and why hadn't they left when Marty had wanted to go?

He turned back to Marty's grave, pausing as the torch beam passed over the headstone. It was as if he were seeing it for the first time: _In loving memory, Marty Hopkirk. Faithful unto death._ Bending down, he picked up a single handful of earth and stared at it as it lay in his palm, an inanimate and unfeeling relic of all that he had used to have. "Marty," he said softly, knowing there would be no answer. "Marty." 

He stood there for some time, alone with the cold and the dark, then he let the dirt drop from his hand to the grave. He didn't stay to watch it fall.

____________________________

Jeannie hadn't seen Jeff so dejected since the day of Marty's funeral. All morning he'd done nothing but sit slumped into his chair, staring mournfully off into space. She'd reminded him twice about their plan to do the tax accounts, and both times he had barely acknowledged her. When the phone on his desk had rung, he hadn't even noticed until she'd got up, walked over, and handed the receiver to him. He'd showed no interest in the mail when she'd brought it to him and now, two hours later, it remained unopened.

Something was obviously wrong. She'd been hoping that if she were patient he would volunteer whatever was bothering him, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. So she stood up, went to his side, and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "Jeff?" 

There was no response. She might almost have been invisible. "Jeff!" She gave his shoulder a shake.

"Hmm? What?" Jeff looked up, his eyes slowly focusing on her. "Oh, it's you, Jeannie."

"Well, of course it's me. Who else were you expecting?"

A sad expression crossed his face. "No one."

Jeannie looked closely at him, feeling even more worried than before. "Jeff, what's wrong? Is it something to do with last night? You haven't said a word about it …"

"It's nothing. Well, nothing you can help with, anyway."

She sat down on the edge of his desk. "Try me." 

He avoided her gaze, staring down at the papers on his desktop. "I appreciate the concern, Jeannie, but it's something I have to deal with on my own. I'm … well …" He looked at her, then looked away again. "I've just been thinking about Marty, that's all."

"Oh." She couldn't help a glance over to the desk that had once been her husband's, and was now hers. "I see."

Jeff looked quickly up at her. "I'm sorry, Jeannie. Now I've gone and made you upset as well."

"No, it's all right." She smiled. "I know it's hard, but it's good to talk about it sometimes. Really. Just ask my sister if you don't believe me — I've certainly rung her up late at night more than a few times." She hesitated, then said, "You miss him too, don't you?"

"Yes, I miss him." It was funny, but Jeff almost sounded surprised, as if he were realizing it for the first time. "I keep expecting to see him — show up, any moment. I keep waiting to hear his voice …" 

He stared off into space again and Jeannie kept silent, hoping it would encourage him to continue. Jeff had had a strange reaction to Marty's death — initially devastated, but a few days later seemingly over the grief completely. Although the loss had affected him in other ways that still persisted even now; he was more distracted than he had used to be, he sometimes came out with the oddest remarks at the most peculiar times, and he'd developed a habit of talking to himself that he didn't used to have. She'd felt for a long time that Jeff had never properly dealt with Marty's death. Maybe the recent séance had done some good after all if it had finally got Jeff to get in touch with his feelings. 

He began to speak once more in a low voice, still staring fixedly ahead. "I see the account books, and I wish Marty were here to drive me crazy worrying about them. Then I think how he'll never again complain to me, or argue with me, or put me on the spot. Or solve a case with me, or joke with me, or simply keep me company through a long night. And I remember how I sometimes wished he wouldn't appear out of nowhere to pester me with his endless worries, always at the most awkward moments … and I realize how lucky I was to have him here, how I didn't appreciate the extra time I'd been given …"

Jeff trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say so much. He looked at Jeannie and saw her smile at him sadly, as if she knew how he felt. But she didn't. If only he could be sure that Marty was all right, that they would meet again someday in the afterlife he knew for certain existed. He would miss his friend — in fact, he was only now beginning to appreciate just how much — but he could survive that. It was the other possibility that haunted him, the fear that Marty might not be there, might be nowhere at all: removed from both life and afterlife, forever. That he himself could have done something — anything — to prevent it. 

He looked again at Jeannie and envied her the comfort of her ignorance.


	5. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

The lack of light meant that it must be dark, but it wasn't dark so much as it was unlit. Nor did the lack of sound imply that it was silent, for that assumed the possibility of noise. All was absence. 

Surely oblivion was supposed to be better than this. 

Marty closed his eyes and willed himself to endure it as he'd been doing ever since he'd arrived here, wherever "here" was. He had been at the séance, standing next to his wife, when Miss Wimple had held up her amulet. There had been a flash, then a wrenching sensation and a feeling of being pulled. He had tried frantically to hang on, then the next thing he had known he was nowhere at all.

As the hours went by he had tried to leave by dematerialization, by transference, and by sheer force of will, but each time he had failed. He had tried everything he knew, followed by everything he could think of, but nothing he did made the slightest impact on his new situation. It seemed that he would never again know light, or sound, or anything at all, except desolation. 

Except for that one time, some while ago now, when a strange thing had happened.

For no reason he could fathom, the emptiness in front of him had changed, becoming a shimmering, silvery grey. Images had seemed to form in it, hazy and indistinct, as if seen through a thick fog. Almost he had thought that he could hear Jeff calling to him, then the fog in front of him had become more and more transparent until he had found himself looking at a room, a normal room in the living world that he had recognized at once — the room in Atherton Manor where they had held the séance. 

Sighing with relief, he had stepped forward, only to find that his movement had no effect and he was left standing in the exact same spot as before. He had tried again, but again he'd found himself remaining in the same place. So he had closed his eyes, visualized Jeff's flat, and once more tried to transfer himself there with all of his determination. He'd kept it up for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen, knowing it wasn't working but refusing to give in, focusing as hard as he could until his concentration had been broken for him.

"Marty! Please, answer me! Marty!"

It was Jeff, unmistakably Jeff, calling for him in a tone of voice that Marty had never heard from him before — almost forlorn. He had started to home in on the sound when he realized it was unnecessary, that he knew exactly where Jeff was. It was a feeling that had been with him since shortly after the emptiness had first changed, but he'd been so preoccupied with his entrapment, it hadn't fully registered before. Someone was at his grave, and it was Jeff. He _knew._

Marty had closed his eyes and once more tried to leave, visualizing the cemetery and focusing with all the energy that he possessed, grasping at the connection with his grave and struggling to materialize himself beside his headstone. But it was no use. He had remained where he was, with the unreachable room at Atherton Manor laid out in front of him. He had heard Jeff call for him several more times, then his partner's voice had faded away. And eventually the room in front of him had faded away as well, and he'd been left once more in the empty and silent darkness.

That had been a while ago now, and hard as Marty tried to keep his hopes up, as time passed with no further change he began to feel more and more disheartened. Was his existence as a ghost finished? Was this oblivion, the final end of all things? Was he permanently cut off from the world, forever trapped in this absence of everything? With an effort, he caught himself and stopped that train of thought. Something had happened earlier, and since it had happened once, it might happen again. Which meant this wasn't the final end. And even if he was wrong, he thought wryly, it couldn't do any harm to act as if he wasn't.

Stubbornly, he forced himself to think through the problem as a detective ought. Why had the darkness become fog, and why had the fog become the room? Was there something he had done that had caused that to happen? Or that had caused the room to go away again? What had he been doing when the changes occurred? Just this, he thought dispiritedly. Standing uselessly in this nothingness, thinking in futile circles. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and yet again tried to transfer himself away. He knew it was hopeless, but at least it gave him something to do. And while his eyes were closed he could imagine what he would find when he opened them again: Jeff's flat, and Jeff standing there with an irritated look on his face and a mocking comment at the ready on how a ghost could have managed to get himself lost. Or else his own flat — Jeannie's flat — with Jeannie sitting at their dresser, smiling and humming a happy tune as she prepared for a new day. 

Marty smiled at the mental picture, then opened his eyes and faced the nothingness once more. He stared into it defiantly, attempting to imagine that it was again changing into fog and daring it to stay unresponsive. Yes, if he tried, he could pretend that the emptiness was greyer than it had been, and that hazy images were starting to form in it just as they had that time before when it had resolved into the séance room. The vague patch over there, that could be the table they had sat at, and the darker one on the other side, that could be the velvet curtains that had covered the french doors. He continued to stare into the darkness, imagining more and more foggy images and finding it increasingly easy to do so, exulting in his triumph until he suddenly realized with a shock that it wasn't just his imagination. There really was fog, there really were images within it, and what was more, the fog was becoming transparent and the images more distinct, just like before. Unless he was hallucinating, letting his hopes get the better of him … he closed his eyes and shook himself, clearing his head, then held his nonexistent breath and opened his eyes again. The séance room was laid out clearly before him, and he found himself once more standing on its threshold.

This time, however, the room was not empty. There was a stranger present, a middle-aged woman dressed all in white, sitting at her ease by the table and looking directly at him. Marty swallowed nervously, feeling more trapped and helpless than ever. "Mrs. Winchester, I presume?"

The woman got up and gave a small nod. "The Atherton Ghost herself. Welcome to my home. And to my mirror."

"Your mirror?" He looked around in surprise, then realized that he was viewing the room from the position of the large gold-framed mirror he had seen hanging on the wall. But when he turned to look behind him, he saw nothing but the emptiness. It was as she had said — somehow he was _in_ the mirror itself.

"I'm sorry for your predicament, Mr. Hopkirk," said the ghost, "but it does get better with time. I ought to know."

Marty gave her a guarded look as the meaning behind recent events became clear. "You're the reason I'm trapped here, aren't you? This was the real purpose of the séance all along."

"You're correct," said Mrs. Winchester. "I needed you to take my place in there so I could get my freedom. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll get used to it eventually. There are even some compensations."

"Compensations?!" Marty tried to take a step towards her, but nothing happened. He stood impotently in place, then shook his fist instead, his anger overcoming his fear. "Jeff will come for me, you know. He won't give up. He'll find me, and then what will you do?"

The Atherton Ghost merely smiled. "Your friend has been here already. I must say though, I do have to agree with you about his tenacity. I tried to keep him away by playing tricks on him, thinking that would get him angry with you and make him assume you were angry with him. That way, when you didn't return, he would think it was the fight and not anything to do with what had happened here. Unfortunately, he saw through my ruse and figured out that it wasn't you. He came barging in here, and quite upset poor Miss Wimple. But it didn't matter, as he got here before midnight, and so there was nothing for him to find."

"Before midnight?" asked Marty. "What does midnight have to do with it?"

"The portal. The mirror's portal opens at midnight, then closes again at sunrise." She looked towards a clock on the mantle, and following her gaze Marty saw that the time was 12:15. "Which gives you slightly less than five hours to re-visit the world tonight. After that, the portal will close, and you will again be in the void until the next midnight. Then open, then close, open, close, and so it will continue, on into eternity." She rose from the table. "I'm afraid I have to go, but I do want to thank you for your help. It's very nice to be free. Make yourself at home — as much as you can from in there — and perhaps I'll stop by and see you again sometime." She smiled at him, then dematerialized, leaving him alone in the room.

Marty stood there, feeling angry and frustrated and frightened. Midnight! To think that Jeff had missed him by such a slim margin, and that having missed him, might never return … Out of desperation, Marty started to try to transfer himself again, but then gave up almost at once, realizing he would be no more successful than all the other times he'd tried. He wasn't going to be able to get free by himself; he needed help. If only there were some way to get Jeff to come back to the manor before the portal closed again at dawn. He started to pace, finding the apparent motion helpful even though it didn't actually move him anywhere. There must be a way, something or someone in the house he could use to help him contact Jeff. He stopped suddenly as he remembered Miss Wimple. Although she had seemed unable to see him, she had obviously known of his presence, since it was she who had held up the amulet that had caused him to change places with Mrs. Winchester. Perhaps he would be able to communicate with her. It was worth a try. 

The only problem was figuring out a way to try. The room was full of mystical artifacts, but if there was some special one he could use for ghostly communication, he didn't know which one it was, let alone how to use it. He paced again until an idea occurred to him. It wasn't very dignified, and it wasn't at all ghostly, but he'd hate to think he'd failed through lack of trying the obvious … 

"Miss Wimple!" he called out as loudly as he could. "Miss Wimple, can you hear me?"

There was a pause, then a surprised voice answered back. "Hello? Yes?"

Marty felt a surge of hope, the first he'd felt in a long while. "Miss Wimple, could you come in here, please?"

A minute passed, and Marty fought down his rising impatience. Then he saw Miss Wimple's head peering cautiously around the doorway. "Mr. Hopkirk? Is … is that you?"

"Yes! And you can hear me! Were you able to hear me all along?"

Miss Wimple came into the room and sat down uncertainly at the table. "My amulet allows me to hear all spirits when they speak. But I'm surprised to hear your voice again. I didn't realize you would choose to return and haunt the manor."

"Choose?" Marty stared at her in disbelief. "Do I look like I've chosen to be here?"

Miss Wimple looked around, focusing her gaze in an upwards direction. "I'm sorry, but I can't see you, only hear you. Is there something wrong? Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, you can help me with something! You can call Jeff Randall and tell him where I am. Then you can help him figure out how to get me out of here!"

"Why, where are you?"

"Right where you helped put me. In the mirror!"

"Oh, my. Really?" Miss Wimple got up and walked over to the mirror, running her hands over its surface. "Then Mr. Randall was on the right track after all. And I'm sorry, Mr. Hopkirk, but I don't think I can help you. It was so hard to get Mrs. Winchester free, you see, and I just don't know if it would even be possible to do it again … the amulet only works once for that sort of thing … and that's assuming that we could find another ghost, which of course would be quite a task on its own. I do hope you'll forgive me, and if there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate at all on any account to …"

"Yes, all right, Miss Wimple." Marty looked at her appraisingly as she stood there, flustered by his interruption. "How about just ringing up Jeff Randall? Could you do that for me?"

"I could, but I don't think Mrs. Winchester would like it. She was quite angry that he came here last night, so I don't think she'll want me inviting him back. But I'll certainly ask her for you, if you don't mind waiting a few minutes. Last I heard her, she was in the garden …" She turned away from the mirror and started walking toward the door. 

"No, wait!" said Marty. Miss Wimple stopped and turned back towards him with a quizzical expression on her face. Marty thought for a moment, then said as casually as he could, "No, you're right, there's no need to bother Mrs. Winchester. In fact, you don't even need to tell her that we've been talking at all. But if you wouldn't mind, I would really appreciate your company for a bit. A nice little chat. Would that be all right?"

"Of course it would, Mr. Hopkirk." Miss Wimple sat herself down again at the table and smiled genially in his general direction. "What would you like to chat about?"

"Well, I was wondering if we might chat about Mrs. Winchester. You see, she mentioned something earlier to me about the mirror, but I'm afraid I've gone and forgotten it already. Perhaps you know what I'm talking about? She must have been trapped in here for a long time. Might she have shared with you any little tricks, or … I don't know, curiosities of any sort? Because what she told me earlier was very interesting, and I'd love to hear more about it."

"Oh, I know what you mean. You must be talking about the power of the mirror to make connections." Miss Wimple laughed and clapped her hands. "Yes, that is good, isn't it?"

Marty strove to keep his voice calm and casual. "Yes, quite good. And how did that work again?"

"Well, from what Mrs. Winchester told me, she just had to put her hands out as if she was in contact with the surface of the mirror. Not that she would feel anything, of course, but that's how she would do it. Then she would concentrate until she had tapped into the mirror's power. And after that, she would just make a connection."

"Right, right, of course, that's just what she told me, too." Marty put his hands out in front of him as if he were touching something. "And just what did 'connection' mean again?"

"Well, connection. She would visualize a place, and then connect to it. She said it was like she was actually there — she could see, and walk around, and watch people going about their lives. But of course, she wouldn't really be there; it was all just a mental projection. Like she was a ghost of a ghost, as it were." Miss Wimple chuckled. "Still, she said it was the only thing that kept her sane. And she could only do it while the portal was open, of course. At sunrise the connection would close, no matter what she did."

"Ah, yes." Marty looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. He wondered when sunrise was. No matter, he just needed to do this as quickly as he could. "Well, thanks, Miss Wimple, but my, look at the time. You must be quite tired. I'm sorry to have kept you up so late, just to keep me company for a bit."

"Oh, no problem at all, Mr. Hopkirk. I've become used to being up very late at night; this was the only time I could talk to Mrs. Winchester, you understand." Miss Wimple rose from the table. "Goodnight, and thank you for the pleasant chat. I hope we'll get the chance to do this again tomorrow night."

"I hope so, too," said Marty, hoping that they wouldn't. He watched Miss Wimple go, then smiled. If all went well, he'd be free in just a few hours.


	6. Did Anyone Misplace a Ghost?

Marty closed his eyes and concentrated, keeping his hands outstretched. He felt nothing at first, but as he continued to concentrate there was an initial tingling, and then a faint but steady feeling of energy coming into him through his palms. Elated, he focused on the energy as hard as he could, encouraging and widening the flow until it had become a surging force that pulsed through his whole body. Would it be enough to let him reach Jeff? Taking a deep and physiologically unnecessary breath, he threw everything he had into visualizing Jeff's flat. He knew the place so well: the small living area with the sofa, the table and the rented TV set; the kitchen with its crowded cupboards and single counter; the double bed sandwiched between the dresser and the nightstand. Slowly the image in his head built as he continued to visualize every detail he could recall. When the image was as complete as he could make it, he opened his eyes — and there was Jeff's flat, laid out before him in hazy reality. It was as if he were standing in it after someone had filled the place with water — everything looked distorted and unstable — but he was standing there just the same, he had succeeded in forming the connection! 

Quickly, he looked around for Jeff. His partner was lying on the bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling in a despondent sort of way. Marty ran to him. "Jeff! Jeff, help!"

Jeff didn't respond. Marty called louder, yelling directly into his face, but Jeff continued to just lie there, and whatever it was he was thinking as he stared at the ceiling were thoughts that remained undisturbed. Frustrated, Marty turned away. It was no good; obviously Jeff could neither see him nor hear him. Which made sense, he belatedly realized, as he wasn't actually there. He was still at Atherton Manor, still trapped. 

Marty sighed and looked around the flat. So he had managed to create a connection. What was the point, if he couldn't actually do anything? 

Or could he? 

Marty considered. He had tried to project his voice and failed, but he had never been able to speak to Jeff over a distance. He had always had to be in the immediate area — not necessarily materialized, but still close by. However, what if the same rule didn't apply to his other abilities, such as shaking objects? If he could see it, which he could, perhaps he could affect it. After all, the mirror might still have him, but he still had the mirror, and he had already proved that he could tap into its power. It was worth a try.

He stared at the drapes and concentrated, willing them to move. And slowly, gradually, but more and more surely, they began to respond, waving gently back and forth as if they were in a breeze. Full of hope, Marty looked to Jeff, but his partner didn't seem to have noticed. Marty grit his teeth and focused the vibrations even further. The curtains whipped forward, and then the window shattered with a loud crash. 

Marty looked to Jeff again, feeling embarrassed. He hadn't meant to do that. Hopefully the window wouldn't be expensive to replace. 

Jeff was staring at the broken glass, his eyes narrowed in anger. Then he sprang from the bed and swept the room with a furious glare. "Back again, are you? Why won't you leave me alone?"

Marty stared at his friend in disbelief. Jeff's voice had been faint, but clear, heard in the same way that he had always been able to hear his partner call to him, and there was no mistaking what he had said. "I'm warning you," Jeff continued. "I know who you are, Mrs. Winchester, and I'm not afraid of you. You already have what you wanted. Stop bothering me and just go away." 

"Jeff!" Marty cried. "Jeff, no, you're wrong! It's me, Jeff! It's me!"

Jeff walked to the closet, took out a broom, and began to methodically sweep up the glass, pausing occasionally to cast suspicious looks around the room. Marty watched him, trying to think. Somehow he had to get Jeff to return to Atherton Manor before the sun rose and the mirror-portal closed again. 

He looked around the flat, searching for inspiration. Over on the counter was the decanter he had given Jeff three years ago. No, better not break that; it had taken him too long to find it in the first place. He could break Jeff's guitar — that would certainly get his attention — but it would be costly to replace, and there was sentimental value attached to it. Besides, once the truth came out about who had actually broken it, Jeff would kill him. But the vase on the dresser could go, Marty decided, and he could shake those books down from the shelf … but no, he slowly realized, none of this was any good. Jeff would simply yell at "Mrs. Winchester," and he wouldn't go driving out to the manor to do that when he could do it right here in the flat. 

Marty continued to think. His eyes fell on the lamp next to Jeff's bed, and an idea occurred to him. Was it possible that he would be able to make the lamp turn on and off? It was one of the usual jokes he liked to play on Jeff; with luck, his partner would catch on that it was him. 

Marty concentrated on the lamp, and obligingly it turned off. Then he focused again, and it turned on. Off, on, off, on. He kept it going, and looked to Jeff. His partner was staring at the lamp, but based on the expression on his face, he still believed it was Mrs. Winchester affecting it. Marty wished he could do more than just make the light flicker. If only he knew Morse code, he could give Jeff an entire message. Jeff even knew Morse code, having learned it in the army. Why hadn't he ever got Jeff to teach it to him? It was the type of thing that could come in handy in a detective business — all those late-night programs on the telly, weren't they always using Morse code, sending SOS … 

Marty gasped and turned the light off again. Yes, SOS! It was in all those programs, come on, think Hopkirk … how did it go, three short, three long, three short? Or was it three long, three short, three long? He couldn't remember. Well, he had to try one or the other. With renewed hope, he crossed his fingers and focused on the lamp once more.

____________________________

Jeff seethed in anger as he swept up the glass. Why was the Atherton Ghost bothering him again? She'd already got the freedom she'd wanted. She'd already taken from him everything he'd had to give.

He picked up a larger piece of the windowpane and held it for a moment on the palm of his hand. Shattered glass, like the shards of his partnership with Marty, gone forever. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping with all his might that Mrs. Winchester would just leave. The last thing he needed was to be haunted by another ghost, continually reminding him of what he had lost. Of who he had lost.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the lamp turn off. Then it came on, then again it turned off. He looked at the lamp, feeling once and for all entirely fed up. Making the light flicker, of all the things she could be doing, why did she have to choose that? It was a joke that Marty had used to pull … what could he do, how could he convince her to leave? 

On, off, on, off, on, off. Jeff went back to sweeping the glass, trying his best to ignore it. How irritating. And the worst thing was, she wasn't even doing it on a regular cycle. She would leave it on for a longer time, then it would be on for a shorter time. Yes, there it went again, three longs, three shorts … 

He spun to face the lamp as the realization dawned. The broom dropped unheeded to the floor. He stared at the lamp and at the area around the lamp, hardly daring to hope, willing the familiar figure to appear. No, there was nothing, at least nothing that he could see. But the lamp kept going: O, S, O … O, S, O … 

In the midst of everything, Jeff started to laugh. Trust Marty to get it wrong.

The lamp gave a very loud click and stayed off, plunging the place into darkness. A wave of happiness and relief washed over Jeff, and he found himself laughing even harder. That was it, the final confirmation. He looked into the shadows and could just picture his partner standing there, arms crossed and an aggrieved look on his face, waiting for the laughter to end. Jeff struggled to get himself back under control as he went over and turned the lamp back on. 

"Marty," he said. "Marty, I'm sorry I laughed, but I'm just so glad you're here. I was afraid I'd never see you again." He looked around the apparently empty flat. "Speaking of which, where are you, anyway? Why can't I see you or hear you?"

The light flickered on and off a few times, then turned itself on again. 

"Okay, okay," said Jeff. "Let's try some yes-or-no questions. One for yes, two for no. Got it?" 

The lamp flickered once. 

"Right. Let's start at the beginning. Can you materialize to me?" 

The lamp flickered twice. 

"Something happened to you." 

One flicker. 

"Was it the Atherton Ghost who did it?" 

One flicker again. 

"Aside from the fact that I can't see you, are you all right?" 

Two flickers. 

Jeff felt a quick shaft of worry. "What did she do to you?" 

The lamp flickered multiple times. 

"Sorry, you're right, hang on …" Jeff paused while he tried to think of a yes-or-no question that could give him the correct answer. "Is the reason I can't see you because you're no longer under the curse?" 

Two flickers. 

"So you haven't … passed on? You're still on earth?"

One flicker.

"And you're still a ghost, just like you were before?" 

One flicker again. 

"So what's changed, then?" Jeff muttered. The lamp flashed rapidly on and off and he looked up at it, annoyed. "Stop it with the light, Marty, that wasn't to you, I was only thinking aloud. Just give me a minute, okay?" 

The lamp settled down again and Jeff stared into it, thinking. "You're still a ghost, you're still under the curse, but I can't see you anymore." 

Two flickers. 

"You're saying that I _can_ see you?" 

One flicker. 

"But Marty, I can't. You're here, and I …" Jeff paused as the lamp flickered twice. "You're not here?" 

One flicker. 

"But then where …" Jeff stopped as he suddenly realized. "Atherton Manor! You're at Atherton Manor, aren't you?" 

One flicker. Jeff grabbed his coat and ran for the door. "Hang on, Marty, I'm on my way!"

____________________________

This time it took Jeff considerably less than an hour to cover the distance out to the manor. When he reached it he turned his car sharply into the driveway, scattering gravel and clipping several hedges as he whipped around the last corner and screeched to a halt.

And then out of the air came a very familiar voice. "Jeff! Jeff, can you hear me?"

"Marty!" Jeff closed his eyes, feeling that he had never heard such a welcome sound in his life before. "Where are you? And why didn't you answer me when I was here last night?"

"I'm in the séance room. And the portal wasn't open yet when you were here — something to do with midnight, I don't know, I don't really understand this supernatural stuff." Jeff smiled at the distaste in his partner's voice. "But apparently we only have until sunrise. And be careful — the Atherton Ghost is around here somewhere, and she won't be pleased to see you."

"Okay. Thanks for the warning." Jeff thought to himself that there was nothing the Atherton Ghost could possibly do that was going to prevent him from getting to Marty. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to be a little circumspect. He got out of the car and headed toward the back of the manor, looking for the french doors. He found them after a few minutes' search, and began to hunt around for something he could use to break the glass.

He was interrupted by the sound of his partner's voice again. "Jeff, what are you up to?"

"Looking for something to use to break in." Jeff went back to scanning the ground for a good-sized rock.

"No, that'll make noise. Hang on, I think I can open them."

Jeff looked up in surprise, then watched in even greater surprise as the locking mechanism on the doors slowly turned and disengaged. "Since when have you been so good with locks?"

"Since I've been able to psychically affect the objects in your flat from sixty miles away. But it's not anything I'm doing differently; it's the power of the mirror." There was a pause, then, "I'm not sensing Mrs. Winchester or Miss Wimple anywhere close by. Come on in."

Jeff entered the séance room and found the light switch. Everything seemed the same as he remembered it, and he looked around as he threaded his way through the furniture. "Marty?" 

"Over here."

Jeff turned toward the sound and found himself facing the mirror on the wall. There was his reflection, sharp and clear in the glass. And there was a second figure, an image in white that seemed superimposed upon the surface: Marty, standing and looking back at him. 

Jeff stepped forward and cautiously touched the glass. "So you are in there. What does it feel like?"

"Like a holiday, what do you think? I'm trapped!"

"Okay, sorry." Jeff ran both hands over the mirror's surface. It felt perfectly normal, just like before. "How do I get you out?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I didn't really think beyond getting you here."

"The amulet?"

"Miss Wimple said it wouldn’t work for another switch. Though I'm not sure if she's the most reliable source of information."

Jeff left the mirror and started walking around the room, looking at the various mystical artifacts. He stopped and picked up something with an abstract wooden carving and symbols painted around its base. "Do you know what any of this stuff does?"

"No, and if I were you, I wouldn't touch any of it. Or you might end up in here with me."

Jeff quickly put the object back on its stand. "Good point." His eyes fell on a crossed pair of axes hung on the wall. He reached up and took one of them down, then gave it an experimental swing. "What if I just smash the mirror?"

"Oh, yes, marvelous idea," said Marty sarcastically. "And what if that just smashes me too in the process?"

"It won't hurt you, will it?"

"Being smashed? Oh, no, I'm sure that won't hurt me at all." Marty eyed the axe nervously as Jeff carried it toward the mirror. Jeff got the impression he would have backed away if he could. "Seriously, Jeff, don't do it. This isn't just a mirror. There's no telling what would happen if you broke it." 

Jeff laid the axe down on a table. "Then we're going to need some professional advice. I think it's time we summoned the Atherton Ghost."

"No need," said Jeannie's voice behind him. Jeff spun around in surprise. There was Jeannie, standing in the doorway, dressed in a nightgown and robe and looking at him with a very strange expression on her face. Jeff stared at her, confused. What was Jeannie doing here?

The next moment, Marty exploded with rage. "Get out! Get out of her! I see you in there; get out of my wife this instant!"

Jeannie gave a cold, mocking laugh that wasn't hers. "And if I don't, just what are you going to do about it, Mr. Hopkirk? You can't touch me from in there."

A chill ran down Jeff's spine as he understood. "Possession," he murmured. "I didn't think that was possible."

Jeannie and the Atherton Ghost inside her came further into the room. "It isn't for most ghosts — I'm sure it's quite beyond your friend here — but a lot of things are possible when you've studied the occult for as long as I have."

Marty had a wild expression on his face that Jeff had never seen before. "I swear, if you don't let her go, I'll make you sorry you ever met me." He reached his hands out, and the next thing Jeff knew, the whole room was shaking. Objects began falling from the tables and from the walls, and Jeff had to struggle to keep his balance. 

"Marty! Stop! This isn't helping. You can't hurt the ghost; you can only hurt Jeannie! Get ahold of yourself and stop!"

Ignoring the noise and vibrations as well as he could, Jeff forced a path to the mirror and faced down his partner. The crazed look in Marty's eyes faded as he caught Jeff's gaze, and abruptly the room was quiet once more. "Jeff, I can't … I’m helpless … " Marty banged once against his side of the mirror, a soundless bang, then he covered his face with his hands. "Please, let her go. Please."

The Atherton Ghost seemed unmoved. "Of course I'll let her go, Mr. Hopkirk. As soon as I get what I want."

"And what is that?" asked Jeff, striving to keep his voice calm. Marty was on the edge, and so he had to keep it together. 

"I want you to leave here and never disturb me or my house again." Mrs. Winchester looked with dismay at the chaos of the room. Almost everything had been knocked to the floor, and some objects had clearly broken. "Just look at this mess. Really, Mr. Hopkirk. If I'd realized you had so much energy in you, I never would have used you for the transference. I thought that as a young ghost, you'd be relatively easy to handle. Oh well."

"We'd be only too pleased to go away and leave you, Mrs. Winchester," said Jeff. "Just tell us how to release Mr. Hopkirk from the mirror, then we'll be on our way."

The Atherton Ghost laughed. "You can't release him. And I don't want you to. The mirror has no power if there's no ghost inside it. What I meant was that you, Mr. Randall, need to leave and never return. As for Mr. Hopkirk, there's another way of keeping him quiet." She smiled at Marty, and he looked back at her warily. "If I bury the mirror, the earth will shield it and the portal will no longer open. But I'll still have access to the mirror's power; not as strongly as before, yet strongly enough. And you, Mr. Hopkirk, will be safely shut away. You'll never be able to bother me again."

"No," said Jeff fiercely. "If you want me gone, you'd better reconsider, because I'm not leaving until Marty is free."

"Then I won't ever release Mrs. Hopkirk." The Atherton Ghost laughed again and gave a little twirl. "Which works just fine for me. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a body; believe me, I'm half hoping that you will be stubborn enough to test me."

"We have to do as she says, Jeff," said Marty. "There's no other choice. I'll be all right, really … I'm sure I'll get used to it, in time …"

"I am not letting her bury you away!" yelled Jeff. 

"I'd think again, Mr. Randall," said Mrs. Winchester. "Because I can also just kill Mrs. Hopkirk whenever I wish. I was able to drive her all the way out here; it would be just as easy to drive her over a cliff." She laughed some more. "Although it would be a shame to waste such a good body. Maybe I'll have a little fun with it first. And maybe I won't ever get out of it at all. That's an idea," she continued thoughtfully. "To have my own powers and a living body, both at the same time …" She looked at the two of them mockingly. "And there's nothing you can do about it, either of you."

Feeling sick to his stomach, Jeff turned his back on her and faced Marty. His partner looked grim, but no longer out of control; the earlier wildness had been replaced by the fierce determination that Jeff had come to count on in a crisis. 

Jeff himself had only one idea left. "What do you think, Marty?" 

Marty looked back at him, and Jeff knew they understood each other. "There's nothing left to lose now, Jeff. Go ahead and do it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Marty watched him as he bent to pick up an object from the floor. "And just in case this doesn't work … thanks for everything, Jeff."

"Same to you, Marty." Jeff paused, looking at his partner once more, then in one strong motion, he swung the axe. The mirror cracked under the impact, and there was a flash of light. He heard Mrs. Winchester scream, "No!" and he smiled with satisfaction. Then he felt a wind pulling at him, stronger than he could resist. He closed his eyes and struggled, but he was no match for it. Then a darkness overcame him, and he felt nothing at all.


	7. Getting in Touch with the Supernatural

Marty closed his eyes as the axe came toward him, wondering if he would feel it, and if so, if it would be the last thing he would ever be aware of. But he and Jeff had been left with no choice. The Atherton Ghost had Jeannie, and only he could do something about it, and only if he were free.

He heard the sound of the glass breaking, but there was no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He opened his eyes to a flash of light. A wind whipped past him, then the lights in the room went out. When they came on again, the wind was gone, and so were Jeff and Jeannie. The Atherton Ghost was there, lying unmoving on the floor, but there was no sign of his partner or his wife.

"Jeff! Jeannie!" he called. "Where are you?" He started to search the room, then realized suddenly that he was in fact moving about — he was finally free of the mirror! He turned to look at where it hung on the wall. The mirror was cracked; in fact, a whole network of cracks radiated out from where Jeff had connected with the axe, and in the center of that spot, there was an ominous black hole. The hole seemed unconnected to either the mirror or the wall behind it; it was just there, a black void, an empty spot where the things of the world that should exist had instead become absent. Marty shivered — he hated this supernatural stuff. 

He did a full search of the room, clinging to a hope that Jeff and Jeannie were there somewhere, perhaps concealed in a corner under a pile of debris … but they weren't. He turned to the mirror that had so recently imprisoned him, and he faced his knowledge that whatever lay beyond the hole was his only chance of being reunited with the two people who meant the most to him in life, and in afterlife.

Marty stood in front of the mirror, looking at the hole, then he gathered himself together and projected his voice into it, calling as loudly as he could. "Jeff! Jeff, can you hear me? Jeff! _Jeff!!_ " 

He paused to listen, and just when he was about to call again, a reply came, faint and muffled, quiet as a whisper, but unmistakable:

"Marty?" 

Elated, Marty shut his eyes and concentrated on the sound, trying to home in. But it had been too soft and elusive, and he was unable to get a fix. "Come on, Jeff, come on, one more time. Call me again, come on," he whispered. He reached out, listening, his every sense tuned to picking up the slightest hint of his partner's voice.

"Marty?" 

It was even quieter than before, nothing but a murmur, but Marty heard it and grabbed onto it, homing in, concentrating on Jeff … where was Jeff … 

"Got you!" he cried suddenly as the fix came to him, and neither knowing nor caring where he would end up, he transferred himself to his partner's location.

The transfer wasn't instantaneous, that was the first thing he noticed. There was a gap between _here_ and _there_ that he had never experienced before in a transference. But when he arrived, he materialized in the usual way. He opened his eyes, and thankfully saw both Jeff and Jeannie in front of him. Jeannie was lying on the ground, and Jeff was kneeling next to her. Jeff saw him and stood up, a look of relief on his face.

"Marty! Am I glad to see you. Where are we? What is this place?"

Marty looked around. They appeared to be outside, in the middle of a vast grey expanse, and it was like no place he'd ever seen before. The sky was grey, with no sun or clouds, no stars or moon; it was simply a uniform haze, with a constant light that seemed to come from nowhere, or everywhere. The ground was grey as well, the dirt or dust a slightly darker color than the sky, and it was a featureless landscape, emptily stretching in all directions for as far as he could see. There was no sign anywhere of the mirror or the hole, or of any way back to the séance room — or to anywhere else, for that matter.

"Don't ask me, Jeff. All I did was home in on you." Marty looked at his wife with concern. "How's Jeannie?"

"She's fine, just temporarily knocked out. Can you still see the Atherton Ghost inside her?"

"No, Mrs. Winchester is currently unconscious in the séance room. Jeannie was pulled in, but she was left behind."

"Well, at least that's something." Jeff looked down at Jeannie, then turned to Marty with a rueful expression. "But you were right about smashing the mirror. Are all three of us trapped in it now?"

Marty shook his head. “I'm not trapped any longer, and anyway, this isn’t where I was. I was in the mirror, but this place … I think this is _through_ the mirror.”

“ _Through_ the mirror?" repeated Jeff. He looked again at the strange grey landscape. "Then where are we?”

“I wish I knew.”

Jeff glanced at Jeannie, then walked a short ways away, motioning Marty to follow him. Once Marty had done so, Jeff lowered his voice, then said, “Marty, you don’t think it’s possible … well, that Jeannie and I are dead, do you?”

Marty smiled. “Not a chance, Jeff.”

“That’s good to hear.” Jeff paused. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re not wearing white, for starters. And we can’t be beyond the grave, because I’m not allowed to go there yet. I’m still under the curse, remember?" Marty gazed up at the sky, then took another look around. "But mostly because this place feels completely different. Not for the living, not for the dead, but somewhere in between.”

Jeff picked up some of the grey dirt from the ground and rubbed it experimentally, then shrugged his shoulders and let it fall again. “If you say so, Marty. You’re the expert." He straightened up once more. "But if we're through the mirror, then we'd better hurry up and figure out a way back. Because when that portal closes at sunrise, I for one don't want to be on this side of it.”

"Neither do I. I've had more than enough of this mirror to last me the rest of my life." Jeff raised an eyebrow at him, and Marty sighed. "Okay, the rest of my death." 

"We've got to think, Marty. There must be a way out of here …" Jeff trailed off, staring into the distance. 

Marty looked around again, trying to come up with an idea, but his attention was diverted by the sight of Jeannie still motionless on the ground. Why hadn't she woken up yet? Not that he didn't trust Jeff, but he should check her out for himself.

As he started to go to Jeannie, he tripped over something on the ground. Looking down, he saw it was the axe Jeff had used to break the mirror. Jeff must have still been holding it when he was pulled in. “I think this is yours, Jeff," he said, picking it up and handing it over. Then he went to Jeannie and bent over her, examining her as well as he could by vision alone. “You’re right, she seems okay. I don’t know why she’s still unconscious, though. Do you think it's an after-effect of the possession?”

Jeff didn't reply. Marty raised his voice. "I said, do you think the possession has something to do with it?" 

Again there was no response. Marty looked back over his shoulder at his partner. "Jeff? Hello? Have you suddenly stopped hearing me?" 

Jeff seemed in a reverie, gazing down at the axe in his hands, but as Marty stared at him, he slowly looked up and came to awareness once more. "What? Sorry, I missed the question." Jeff's tone of voice was odd, and he appeared strangely distracted. "Um … Marty?”

“What?” Marty bent over Jeannie again, then straightened up, rubbing his hands together. "She'll be all right."

“Could you come here for a minute?” 

"Sure. " Marty transferred over, materializing directly in front of Jeff. “What is it?”

“There's something I'd like you to do for me.”

Marty eyed his partner curiously. “All right, Jeff. What?”

“Catch.”

Jeff suddenly tossed the axe to him. Startled, Marty reflexively reached for it, even though he knew it would fall right through him … but it didn’t. It landed squarely in his palms, and the next thing he knew, he had caught it and was holding it in both hands. Not only did it feel solid, it was heavy. Shocked, Marty dropped the axe and took a step back.

Jeff gave him a triumphant look. “Interesting, wouldn't you say, Detective Hopkirk?”

“Jeff, it’s not just interesting, it's impossible! It should be solid to you or to me, but not to both of us.” Marty looked down at the axe, then nudged it cautiously with the tip of his boot. It rocked slightly at the touch.

Jeff laughed. “You said it yourself, Marty. Not for the living, not for the dead, but somewhere in between. With its own set of rules. Care to raise the stakes?”

“’Raise the stakes’? What are you on about, Jeff?”

With a look of challenge, Jeff held up his hand, palm out and facing him. Marty’s eyes widened as he caught Jeff’s meaning. “Jeff, you don’t suppose …”

“Try.”

Slowly, Marty held up his own hand, feeling unaccountably nervous. Then even more slowly, he moved his hand toward Jeff’s. No, this couldn’t work, it wasn’t possible. He was a ghost, and ghosts couldn't touch the living … 

Their palms met.

And touched.

Solid.

Jeff grinned while Marty stood there in stunned amazement, feeling Jeff's hand pressed against his own. Then Jeff grabbed Marty's hand and pulled him in, and simultaneously they both went for a hug, Jeff thumping him on the back as he had done on the day of Marty’s wedding, Marty hugging Jeff tightly in return, amazed but grateful to be able to embrace his best friend again after all this time. 

Then he caught sight of Jeannie still lying a short distance away, and he froze as he realized what this meant.

Jeff followed his gaze, then released him and stood back. “Go ahead, Marty.”

Marty stayed rooted to the spot. Jeff made an exasperated sound, then gave him a little push. “We don’t have very long. Don’t waste time; go to her.”

Still Marty found it difficult to move. With a final encouraging shove from Jeff, he slowly made his way over to his wife. Leaning over, he tentatively reached out a single finger to brush against her cheek, still not completely sure that she would feel solid to him. But she did. Her skin felt warm and smooth to his touch, and just as he remembered it. 

He knelt next to her, timidly stroking first her arm, then her head, then her face. Then with sudden abandon he lowered himself to the ground and gathered her into his lap. He held her, and buried his head in her hair, and closed his eyes, and rocked her gently back and forth. Her hair was soft against his skin, and her body was warm against his as he held her close. It felt wonderful, so wonderful. He wanted to stay there forever, just reveling in the touch of her and the sense of her weight in his arms.

But after what seemed like a short time, he heard Jeff coming up behind them, then felt Jeff’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marty, but we’ve got to get going. I have an idea on how to get out of here, and we don't want to cut it too close to sunrise.”

“Yes, Jeff, okay. I’ll be right with you.” He heard Jeff walk away again. He held his wife for one last minute, then bent to her forehead and gave her a tender kiss. Slowly and with infinite care, he laid Jeannie gently back on the ground. He touched his hand once more to her face, then, resigned, he straightened up and took a step back and away. Jeannie looked peaceful, like she was sleeping, and Marty almost thought there was a hint of a smile on her face, as if her dreams were sweet ones. He went back over to Jeff, who looked as if he were both happy and sad for him at the same time.

"You jumped yourself in, so I assume you can jump yourself out of here, right?” said Jeff.

Marty considered. “Yes, I'm sure I can. But that doesn’t help you and Jeannie.”

“It does if you take us with you.” 

Marty just stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“I think it might work.” Jeff paused, then admitted, "And besides, it's the only idea I have."

“But I’ve never been able to do anything like that before!”

“You’ve never been able to touch me before, either.”

"That's a point," Marty conceded. "But Jeff, it's still a big risk. What if I lost you on the way?" 

Jeff removed his jacket and handed it to him. "Here. Start with this. See if you can take it to Atherton Manor. And check up on Mrs. Winchester again while you're about it."

Marty took the jacket into his hands, feeling its weight and the slickness of the leather. He had not thought he missed his sense of touch; it had been just one of those losses that he had accepted as an unavoidable consequence of his death. Yet it was nice to be able to hold something again. Absently he continued to toy with the jacket, passing it from hand to hand, until he noticed that Jeff was starting to look impatient and annoyed at the delay. Hastily Marty switched his attention back to the task at hand. "Right, Jeff. Wish me luck." 

Jeff shook his head, then gave him a look of tolerant amusement. "If this works, then it's lucky for all of us. Now go, will you?"

Gripping the jacket tightly, Marty closed his eyes and concentrated on transferring himself and the jacket to the séance room. He could feel the weight of the jacket in his hands as he dematerialized, but when he arrived, the weight was gone and the jacket was falling through his fingers. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was again in front of the mirror, and the jacket was there with him, crumpled in a heap on the floor. He bent down to try to touch it, but his hand passed right through it. It was odd to think that mere seconds before, he had been holding it. He bent lower to examine it, looking to see if there was any damage from the trip. It seemed fine, and what was more, his psychic senses told him that it had taken no harm. Marty looked up and considered the mirror thoughtfully, then smiled. Jeff was right, they had found the way out!

Belatedly he remembered the Atherton Ghost. He looked for her on the floor where he had last seen her, but she was gone. Well, nothing he could do about that now. He closed his eyes and transferred himself back to Jeff.

"Well?" asked Jeff when he arrived.

"It worked, Jeff! We can do it!"

"And Mrs. Winchester?" 

"She was gone. I don't know where she went."

"We'll just have to watch out for her, then." Jeff paused, then ran his hand back through his hair. "I can't believe we're really going to do this."

"Don't tell me you're afraid. I told you, the test went perfectly."

“I just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.”

“Of course I know what I’m doing. It's the same as I always do, you'll just be along for the ride. And besides," he added teasingly, "you know I’m a far better driver than you are.”

“Ha," said Jeff. "If you say so, Marty, but you have to admit that you don’t have the best sense of direction. Remember that time you got lost on the way to Croydon? We were halfway to Wales before you figured out you'd gone the wrong way!"

Marty rolled his eyes. "At least it was a pleasant day for a drive. Come on," he continued, "this was your idea, and it's also the only way out of here."

Jeff hesitated, then thrust out his hands. Marty held out his own hands, and the two of them grabbed on to each other tightly.

“Your hands are sweaty," Marty complained.

"Yours are cold," replied Jeff.

"They're cold because I'm a ghost."

"Mine are sweaty because I'm nervous."

Marty grew serious, realizing Jeff was telling the truth. "Trust me," he said quietly. "I won't let go until you're safely there." 

He gave Jeff's hands a squeeze and Jeff looked up, meeting his gaze. Then Jeff smiled and gave a squeeze in return. "You know, I've watched you do this countless times and always wondered how it felt. And now I get to find out."

Marty smiled back. "It's my pleasure. Are you ready?"

Jeff closed his eyes and tightened his grip. "Ready."

Marty closed his own eyes to begin the transfer. "Then here we go!"

Marty gripped Jeff's hands, concentrating on the séance room and on taking Jeff there, and as he dematerialized he was aware that Jeff was dematerializing too, Jeff's hands still clasped within his own. He held on tightly until there was nothing there left to grasp, and by that knew they had arrived at their destination. He opened his eyes, and there was the séance room again, and there was Jeff, safely with him. Looking down, he saw that Jeff's hands and his own were overlapping, as if they were still trying to hold on. A little sadly, he looked again at Jeff. His partner's eyes were still closed, and he appeared to be afraid to open them again.

"We're here, Jeff. What did you think?"

Jeff opened his eyes and looked around. "It worked!"

"'Well, of course it worked. I told you it would."

"Marty, I'll never doubt you again." Jeff bent down and picked his jacket up off the floor. Then he looked at the clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes to sunrise, more or less. Time you went back for Jeannie. Can you take her straight to your place?"

"Yes. I'll do that. What are you going to do?"

"'Wake up Miss Wimple and get her to help me confront a ghost."


	8. Who Said the Grave Was Quiet?

Jeannie stirred, feeling groggy and disoriented. Slowly she came to herself, then realized with a start that she was not home in bed where she should be. She was somewhere she'd never been before, lying on bare ground, and all around her everything was grey and strange.

Puzzled, she sat up and looked around, casting back in her memory for an explanation of how she had ended up here. But there was none. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her own bed. Had she been kidnapped while she was asleep? But why then did the sky look so strange?

Then a figure appeared out of the air in front of her, and she was glad she was sitting down, or else she would have fallen. 

"Marty," she whispered, staring at him. "Oh my God, Marty …" She stopped, unable to continue. This must be a dream, she realized, but she had never dreamt of Marty in such a vivid way before. He had never come to her like this, never stood before her looking so real, so physically present. And she had certainly never dreamt of him looking as flustered as he did right now. He was staring at her as if he were just as shocked as she was. And although he was dressed all in white, he was otherwise so utterly himself, so dear and familiar, it suddenly didn't matter anymore whether this was real or not; all that mattered was that it was Marty. With no further thought she rose and ran to him, then wrapped her arms around him, accepting the gift of his presence without worrying about explaining it. "Marty. Oh, Marty." 

"Oh, Jeannie," he murmured, and it was his voice, sounding just the same, and then his arms went around her in return. They stood there holding each other, and it felt as it had always used to feel, as if they had never been apart. And she thought how it had been a year since she had been embraced like this, had held and been held by her husband like this, and all the feelings of loss came suddenly out of her, and she buried her head against his chest. 

"Shhh." She felt Marty tighten his embrace, felt him stroking her, comforting her. "It's okay, Jeannie. It's all right. I'm here. It's me, darling. It's really me."

"But how are you here?" she asked. "You died. You left me …" She raised her head to look at him, then regretted her words as she saw a look of pain cross his face.

"I died, but I never left you, Jeannie. Never. I'll always look after you, and I'll always be there for you, whenever you need me." He took her face in his hands, smiling at her. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said. 

"And I'm sorry, darling, I'm so sorry, but there's no time. We can't stay. I have to take you home, right now."

She accepted the statement, knowing this was a special moment that couldn't have been expected to last. "Will I ever see you again?" she asked.

He gathered her into his arms once more. "Some day. But in the meantime, you have your life to live, Jeannie. Live, and be happy. And even though you won't see me, know that I'm there for you. I tell you I love you every day."

"You do, don't you?" she whispered, pulling back to gaze into his face. "I knew it. I felt it. Oh, Marty …"

"I love you, Jeannie," he said again, then he closed his eyes, and she closed hers too, and he took her in his arms and kissed her. As they kissed, wrapped in a mutual embrace, she felt a wonderful sensation, as if she had lost all weight and mass, and Marty had too, and it was just the two of them together and nothing else existed in the universe. Then abruptly her weight and mass were back, and she couldn't feel him anymore. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was standing in their bedroom, and Marty was gone. She was alone. 

She sighed, and crawled back into bed. It had been a dream after all. Yet the memory was sharp and distinct, unlike the memory of most dreams, and it was odd that she had been out of bed at the end; she couldn't recall ever sleepwalking before. A dream, yes, but a very special one. She reviewed the whole thing in her head, savoring every second, especially the kiss at the end. Then a stab of grief overcame her as she realized that despite her dream, Marty was still gone forever.

And then it came to her, right on the edge of her awareness: a feeling, an impression of love, lifting her up, supporting her, flowing into her from the outside.

“Marty,” she whispered. “It's you, isn't it? You were real. It was a dream, but you were real.” Surrounded by the feeling of love, she smiled and drifted off to sleep.

____________________________

"But Miss Wimple, there's no need to do what Mrs. Winchester tells you to do just because she's a ghost."

"Really?" asked Miss Wimple. She looked thoughtful, and Jeff wondered if he was finally getting through to her. "But we're only mortals, and ghosts are supernatural beings. Don't you do whatever Mr. Hopkirk tells you to do?"

Jeff had to laugh at that. "No, of course I don't. Actually, more often than not, I'm the one who's telling _him_ what to do."

"And he obeys you?" asked Miss Wimple in a tone of awe.

"Yes. Well, no, he doesn't 'obey' me exactly," Jeff admitted. "Marty does what I ask him to do because we're partners. He does something because he agrees it's the best thing to do, or as a favor, or sometimes because I've talked him into doing it. Just like sometimes he talks me into doing something I otherwise wouldn't have done." More than sometimes, Jeff amended to himself, but there was no need to tell Miss Wimple that. Anyway, that had nothing to do with being a ghost; Marty had always had a talent for talking him into things, and Jeff sometimes wished that Marty didn't know how to manipulate him quite so well. "The important point is, Marty and I are friends. We do things for each other because we choose to. And if Mrs. Winchester is asking you to do things you'd rather not do, then you need to stop and not listen to her anymore."

Miss Wimple frowned in concentration, as if she were trying to understand. "So what you're saying is, I don't have to kill you like she's telling me to do right now?"

Jeff froze. "Mrs. Winchester is here with us now, and she's asking you to kill me?"

"Oh, yes. She's not very happy with you, I'm afraid. And she thinks that if you die right here, she can trap your spirit in the mirror and get it to work again." Miss Wimple gave a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure if she's right about that. But I do suppose it's worth a try …" 

Then to Jeff's horror, she brought out a gun.

Jeff put his hands up and tried to look calm. "Now look, Miss Wimple. You know you don't want to do this. You're not a murderer. Don't let Mrs. Winchester make you into one."

"But can I really just disobey her?" Miss Wimple looked down at the gun as if it were an abstract problem she was trying to solve. "I'd hate to not listen to what a ghost told me to do."

At that moment, Jeff saw Marty materialize in the room. "So what you're saying is, you need a ghost to tell you to put down the gun?" he repeated, with a meaningful look at his partner.

"Put it down, Miss Wimple!" yelled Marty. He disappeared, then reappeared again directly in front of the gun, as if he hoped that might prevent Miss Wimple from shooting. Which, knowing Marty, was likely the case, as he'd probably forgotten that Miss Wimple couldn't see him. Not that Jeff didn't appreciate the sentiment.

Miss Wimple obediently knelt down to place the gun on the floor, but then suddenly she froze. Slowly she rose up again, still holding the gun, and the expression on her face was now one of pure malice and fury.

Marty retreated and raised his own hands in the air, his eyes wide. "Watch it, Jeff," he said.

"I take it that Mrs. Winchester is practicing her possession skills again?" said Jeff, watching her warily. He saw Marty start to move to the left, and as unobtrusively as he could, he inched to the right.

"I will kill you for what you've done, Mr. Randall," hissed the Atherton Ghost. "Then I will trap you in the mirror, and Mr. Hopkirk too, and bury it! Then I'll possess Mrs. Hopkirk, and the three of you will spend eternity regretting that you ever interfered with me!"

"I'm sure that we would," said Jeff, "except you've got something wrong." He took another careful step to the right, drawing her gaze.

"Wrong?" scoffed Mrs. Winchester. "What do I have wrong?"

"It's you who interfered with us!" yelled Marty from behind her. She whirled, startled, and Marty made a grab for the gun, but his hand went right through it. Jeff ducked in anticipation of the weapon going off, but then saw that Marty had hold of _something_ , and the gun was slipping from Miss Wimple's hand. Suddenly, she collapsed to the floor. Jeff stared at her lying there, then looked to Marty. His partner appeared to be struggling against an invisible foe, and Jeff quickly realized it was the invisible — to him — ghost of Mrs. Winchester. Marty must have forced her out of Miss Wimple somehow.

"Come on, Marty, take her down!" he encouraged. 

Marty pushed something away from him and stood there, glaring at an empty spot. Then he said, "I was taught to never hit a lady, but this is for Jeannie!" And he swung his fist, hard. An expression of satisfaction crossed his face, and Jeff knew that the blow had landed.

Marty knelt and felt at a space slightly above the floor, then looked up. "She's out cold, Jeff."

"Well done," said Jeff. "But once she recovers, you realize she's just going to come after us again."

"I've been thinking about that. And I think I know how to stop her once and for all."

"How?" asked Jeff in surprise.

Marty glanced towards the french doors and their window. "How long until sunrise, Jeff?"

Jeff stared at him, then rushed to the window and looked out. It was still dark, but towards the east there was a hint of a lighter grey. "It's nearly time, Marty. Hurry!"

Marty knelt again, and reached out to the spot on the floor. Then he vanished. Jeff looked at the mirror, then out the window. The sky was getting lighter. "Come on, come on," he muttered. 

"Done!" proclaimed Marty as he reappeared. A moment later, a shaft of red broke through the sky, and the black hole in the center of the mirror disappeared. The portal had closed. Jeff heaved a sigh of relief.

Miss Wimple groaned, then stirred. Jeff went to her and helped her sit up. "Are you all right, Miss Wimple?" he asked.

"Fine, I think. What happened?"

"Mrs. Winchester took advantage of you for the last time, that's what happened," said Marty. "Come on, Jeff, let's make sure that portal never opens again."

"You want to bury the mirror, Marty?" 

"Yes. After all, that's what she was going to do to me. And at least she can move around where she is."

"I hope she likes grey," said Jeff with an attempt at a laugh.

"I hope she doesn't," said Marty grimly.

Jeff looked at him, and thought of what had nearly happened to Jeannie. "Yeah," he agreed. "Let's do this."

____________________________

Miss Wimple hadn't protested their burial of the mirror. Whether that was because she was shaken by what Mrs. Winchester had done to her, or because she was obeying Marty's wishes as a ghost, Jeff neither knew nor cared. However, just to be safe, they made sure the burial site was well hidden from both Miss Wimple and from anyone else who might start digging around in the area. Afterwards, Jeff had driven Marty's car back to Jeannie's flat. He'd have to arrange to pick his own car up later, but for now, he wanted no clues that Jeannie had experienced anything other than a vivid dream. Marty had agreed, and hadn't complained even once about Jeff's driving during the long trip back. As for Jeff, by the time he finally got home, it was all he could do to fall into bed before he was asleep.

It was well past noon when he awoke. He stared at the clock, but before he had time to get worried, he saw Marty peering down at him.

"Finally!" exclaimed the ghost. "Are you planning on making it to the office at all today? Jeannie's getting concerned."

"Yeah, right, okay," said Jeff, getting out of bed. "How is she, Marty?"

"She's fine. She doesn't seem to be suffering any after-effects from the possession. " 

"That's a relief," said Jeff. 

"She's cleaned up the rest of the mess you left in the office."

"Even better," said Jeff with a smile.

"And she's left the tax accounts for you to finish."

"Ah," said Jeff, his smile fading. "Has she?"

"She has," confirmed Marty. "I'll let her know you're on your way, shall I?" he asked pointedly, and vanished.

Jeff ate and dressed as quickly as he could. Of course he knew that Marty couldn't really tell Jeannie he was on his way, but then again, knowing his partner, he just might find a way. And he was indeed very late, so Jeannie must be wondering where he was.

Sure enough, when he got to the office, Jeannie looked relieved to see him. "Jeff! I was about to phone you. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Jeannie. Sorry I didn't come in earlier, but I was out until past sunrise this morning."

"What happened? Did you go back to Atherton Manor?"

"Yes, I did." Jeff quickly tried to recall what Jeannie knew about the events of the past few days. "We don't have to worry about Miss Wimple any longer, and there will be no more plates flying around by themselves. It's all been taken care of."

"Good," said Jeannie. "I'm sorry I dragged you into the whole thing, Jeff. It's just that …" she trailed off.

"What, love?" asked Jeff.

"Well, I know you'll think I'm crazy, but sometimes I think Marty is communicating with me. Not in words, but it's as if I can feel his presence," she explained, talking quickly so that Jeff couldn't interrupt even if he wanted to. "Then last night I had this dream, and it was like he was right there in front of me, talking to me." 

Jeff glanced at Marty, surprised. His partner shifted a little, looking embarrassed, but with a happy, silly smile on his face.

"What did he say?" asked Jeff.

"That's private!" exclaimed Marty quickly. "Don't tell him, Jeannie."

Jeannie smiled. "I don't think I want to share _everything_ with you, Jeff," she said while Marty looked smug. "But see, he confirmed that I really am feeling his presence. I don't expect you to believe me," she went on, turning away. Jeff was thankful that she wasn't looking at him right then, because he wasn't sure if he could keep the proper expression on his face. He wasn't even sure what the proper expression was. But he could tell that something was still bothering her, and he owed it to her to help if he could. He owed it to both of them.

"So what's the problem, then, love?" he asked her gently.

"He said he's telling me he loves me, and I feel it, Jeff. I do," she said defiantly, turning around again. "But I don't get to say anything back to him. How do I tell him that I love him, too? _That's_ what I wanted out of that silly séance. The chance to tell him that I still love him, too."

"Oh, Jeannie," said Marty. "It's all right. I know you still love me."

"The séance didn't work, but I want to try again. Especially after last night."

"You want to try another séance?" asked Jeff in surprise.

"No, nothing like that," she said, and Jeff heaved a sigh of relief. "But I’ve written Marty a letter, and I was thinking that maybe if we went to the cemetery together, and burned it at his grave, that somehow it would get to him. What do you think?”

Jeff looked at her thoughtfully. “I think you have the right idea, Jeannie. But don’t go there with me. Go by yourself. And don’t burn the letter; read it aloud to him.”

“Just read it aloud? That's all?" asked Jeannie. "Do you really think that if I do that, he’ll be able to hear me?”

Jeff exchanged a look with Marty, then turned back to Jeannie. “Yes. I really think he will.”

“Okay. Then that’s what I’ll do," she said with resolve. She smiled at him. "In fact, I think I’ll go over there right now. You had half the day off, so now it's my turn.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “Bye, Jeff. Don’t work too late on the tax accounts.”

Jeff smiled back. “Bye, Jeannie. Ciao.”

As Jeannie left, Jeff packed up his briefcase and headed for the door himself. It'd been a rough night, and a rough day before that, and he deserved a break. He turned off the light, but immediately it turned itself on again, and the door blew closed in his face.

“Marty!”

The ghost appeared before him, barring the way. “Sorry, Jeff. You’re not leaving. Do you have any idea how far behind we are on the tax accounts?"

"Yes, but …"

"And another thing. There’s a strange knocking coming from the pipes behind Jeannie’s desk, so you need to call up the landlord to tell him."

"Marty."

"Make sure he gets someone qualified in to look at it, because the whole heating system might be about to go …"

"Marty …"

"… And while we’re on the subject of getting things fixed, my car was running a little rough this morning, and given the way you drove it back from Atherton Manor, I think it needs a service …”

"Marty!"

"…And be sure to ask about the wheel alignment, because you sped through that pothole at Charing Cross and I'm certain it did something to the balance…"

" _Marty!!_ " Jeff dropped his briefcase and covered his ears with both hands. “Stop, please! Just turn it in already, will you?”

There was a pause, then: “I’m telling you, Jeff, if you don’t take care of these small things right away, they turn into bigger problems later on.”

Jeff surrendered. “All right, all right! I’ll do them. I’ll do them all! The tax accounts today, the landlord and your car tomorrow. I promise. Just do me one favor in return.”

“What?”

“Vanish!”

Marty disappeared. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jeff went back to his desk. He took out the paperwork for the tax accounts and was about to begin when he paused for a moment, looking around.

“Marty?”

“Yes?” The ghost appeared again, sitting on the edge of Jeff’s desk. "What is it?"

Jeff smiled. “Just checking.”

Marty smiled back. “I have to get going; Jeannie will be at the cemetery soon.” He dematerialized, but his voice came floating back. “See you, Jeff.”

"See you, Marty," Jeff replied. He shook his head, still smiling, then went back to the tax accounts and settled in to finish them before Marty found the next thing to pester him about.


End file.
